


Hello, Beautiful.

by Vali_West



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, Schmoop, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6750358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vali_West/pseuds/Vali_West
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Solider shows up at Steve's front door in the middle of a storm, fevered and injured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be romance, there will be sex.

It had been a rainy and cold night that seemed to put all past thunderstorms that year to shame.

The wind had kicked up at around five that evening, strong and relentless, sending some children to the park with kites. That is, until the rain started. It came down in thick sheets, drenching everything and everyone in upstate New York. It sent everybody inside with hot chocolate and lit fireplaces.

Steve was walking home from the town gym when the rain began as a fine drizzle, but by the time he was hurrying to unlock his front door, every inch of him was soaking wet. He bristled and shook, annoyed at the weather, and let himself into his small house at the edge of the street. The house was a warm welcome he could relax into. The place was quaint and clean and full of familiarity. Steve slid his duffel bag from his shoulder into the plush armchair near the entrance, and kicked off his sneakers. He padded over to the kitchen where he prepared a small after-workout snack: a bowl of cereal with strawberries and an organic protein smoothie.

He reached for his phone and set some mellow music on the Blu-Tooth system (something he still wasn't entirely comfortable with, music playing out of nowhere, but Tony had helped him set it up), and ate in silence.

The dry cereal crunched between his teeth as he caught up on what was new around the world with his newspaper. He flipped through the pages slowly, eyes scanning for anything of great importance. A drugstore robbery here, a car theft there, but nothing outside of the police's control.

Steve chuckled when he reached the funnies of the page, shaking his head to himself at the absurdity of them all. He took a slurp from his smoothie and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When the cereal was gone and the smoothie was polished off, Steve set about to taking a shower. He walked to his room to retrieve a set of new clothes (a T-shirt and some sweats and a pair of boxers) and wandered his way to the bathroom. There, he cranked on the shower to a hot temperature, and began to strip himself of his workout clothes.

He peeled his shirt off, dropping it to the floor, followed shortly by his mid-knee shorts and briefs. He stretched as he waited for his water to rise to the desired temperature, feeling the strain of well-worn muscles stiffen and then relax again.

Steve took his phone and turned up the music by a touch, just loud enough for him to hear over the rushing water, and then stepped into the shower.

He washed slowly, relishing the sensation of the hot water against his skin. He washed his hair twice to rid himself of the grime, then his face with his special beaded soap. Then he cleansed his body with his red body wash.

He exited the shower after around fifteen minutes, and he reached for his towel and began to dry himself off. Steve shook the towel over his head to try his hair first so it wouldn't drip, then set to drying the rest of his body. He dressed.

Steve exited the bathroom and walked back into the living room. He took a heavy seat on the couch opposite of where his duffel bag resided, and took the remote. He was debating between Crowe and Ledger when he heard it – a knock at the door.

Steve paused.

Surely that must have been a branch. No one would be out at such a time, let alone visiting friends. Speaking of which... his brow furrowed. Who would be visiting him in the first place?

He hesitated but there was no further sound.

Steve rose to his feet slowly, opening the drawer of the stand beside him and reaching for his Glock 45. He tucked it in his sweatpants against the small of his back.

Then another knock. It sounded lighter this time, more hesitant.

Steve tried to peer through the peep-hole in the center of the door, but all he saw was darkness. It was impossible to see.

He lingered a hand on the doorknob.

This was ridiculous. If someone was trying to hurt him, they would have burst through the door by now.

He took a deep breath and twisted the knob, and swung the door open.

And he _froze_.

The figure standing – cowering – in his view was a tall, dark shadow. He bore jet-black pants and shoes, a long-sleeved shirt that covered both arms, and dark gloves. But his face, his _face_ -

His eyes were dark and rogue with deep shadows cast beneath them. The white of his eyes were tinged red, blue eyes stark against the white of his skin. His flesh was flushed pale, his brow beaded with rain and sweat. His tight jaw was adorned with a fine stubble, and his lips were chalk-white.

Steve stood, grounded in his shock, eyes blown open wide.

“Bucky?” He whispered, as if a sound too loud would scare him away.

For all he knew, it may.

Bucky struggled to match his gaze, his half-lidded eyes exhausted. The harsh winds were whipping his long hair, the rain was drenching his clothes. His entire form was listing to one side. He didn't even have the energy to stand up straight.

“Steven.”

The raspy word slipped from his chapped lips softly, and there was no bite and no bitterness to his tone.

In fact, Steve dared to believe it sounded like a plea.

Suddenly, his eyes slipped closed and his body fell lax, and Steve swore as he swiftly wrapped his arms around his frame and caught him narrowly.

“Bucky,” He gasped out, “Bucky!”

Steve frantically turned him in his arms, and Bucky's head fell limp to one side. His left arm was drawn loosely around his stomach, his dark eyelashes standing out across his white cheekbones.

“Buck,” Steve choked out, holding him close.

Bucky's body was warm – far too warm. He radiated heat like a furnace. When Steve laid a tentative hand upon his brow, he felt his heart drop.

He was ablaze.

Steve rapidly looked to his left then his right. After making sure no one had seen them, he carried Bucky inside.

He closed the door with his foot and walked hurriedly back to the living room. Steve could feel the soft rustle of Bucky's breath across his neck, but it was far too faint and shallow.

Very carefully, as if he were made of glass, Steve laid Bucky down on the couch. Bucky's body was pliant, too pliant, and it send a shard of agony through Steve's heart.

Steve searched over him with worried eyes and desperate hands, beginning to rid him of his wet clothing. He produced a knife from the nightstand alongside the couch, the same one where he kept his pistol, and set to splitting the fabric down the middle to undress him. He wanted to move him as minimal as possible - who knew what sort of injuries he bore.

He felt fear tear through him at the sight of Bucky's body. There was a gunshot just below his left pectoral. It didn't look new, but it was bleeding sluggishly – he must have overstrained it.

Bucky's skin was blemished with thick scars. There was one that writhed from his rib cage to his back, two that looked distinctly like bullet wounds, and a slice in his right arm that had been hastily stitched together.

Steve rose and fetched his first aid kit, three thick blankets, and a pair of sweats. When he returned, he set to carefully dabbing on an anti-infection cream on the worst of the open wounds. He ran his coated finger down the split of his stitched skin.

Bucky didn't stir.

Once finished, he set the cream aside and reached for a long bandage and a white gauze pad. He gingerly pressed the pad against the gun wound and began to wrap the bandage around him. Steve gently raised him so he could tuck it around his shoulders.

“There we are, Buck,” Steve murmured to him as he fastened the ends of the bandage into a firm knot. “That should hold.”

He then slid on the dry sweatpants on Bucky to cover him, before lastly tucking two of the blankets around his form. He moved slowly as to not disturb him. Steve made sure that the plush fabric covered him neatly, so that his fever wouldn't grow worse. He set aside the third blanket just in case Bucky woke up cold. Steve pulled back slowly onto his knees.

He had so many questions.

What was Bucky doing here?

How did he fall so terribly ill?

Who shot him?

How did he know where Steve lived?

And importantly...

_How did he know my name?_

“Bucky...” He whispered softly, laying a tender hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes briefly, as if he could somehow take away his pain and sickness through a soft touch.

At that moment, he truly wished he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes over.
> 
> Steve reminiscences over his memories with Bucky during the war.

Steve couldn't sleep.

He's staring at the ceiling fan, his heart pounding loud in his chest.

Bucky lingered in his mind like a familiar mantra. No matter how hard he tried, Steve couldn't pull the image of Bucky's eyes falling closed and his body going limp in his arms out of his head.

It made him feel awful just remembering it.

Bucky was terribly sick – this he knew.

What he didn't know was what to do about it.

He couldn't call a doctor, for fear that he may be recognized as the Winter Solider.

The Avengers could _not_ know about Bucky. That was surefire. They would drag him off and throw him into a prison.

It would have to be someone with little to no affiliation with the media, someone who wouldn't rat Bucky out to anyone.

Then a name popped into his head.

 _Sam_.

Steve sat up abruptly.

Of course.

Sam was helping him find Bucky, wasn't he? Who else better to tell?

Steve jumped out of bed and reached for his smart phone. He dialed up Sam's number rapidly, holding his breath as he waited for him to answer.

_Please pick up, please pick up..._

_“H'llo...?”_

“Sam,” Steve rushed out. “Sam, it's Steve.”

_“I know it's you, bud. They have caller IDs now.”_

Christ, he sounded tired.

“Sorry, I know it's late.” He apologized first. “But I need to tell you something.”

_“I'm all ears.”_

“It's Bucky.” He exhaled and let it out in one breath, “He's here. He's at my house. He's alive.”

There was a moment of silence, and then, _“Really?”_

“Really. He's _here_.”

 _“This is... this is fantastic.”_ Sam's voice was stunned. _“What happened? Tell me everything. Where was he?”_

Steve rushed to explain everything – about how he showed up at his front door, how he collapsed, and about his fever.

_“You're telling me the kid's sick?”_

“He's burning up, Sam, I've never seen anything like it.”

 _“And you can't exactly drive him to the nearest Urgent Care,”_ Sam mumbled quietly, and Steve could tell he was thinking hard. _“What's his healing rate like?”_

“I don't know.” Steve admitted. “If it's anything like mine, he...” he gulped. “He might be okay in a few days... a week at most.”

_“If it's not like yours?”_

“Then I wouldn't know.”

_“What I think we need to do is treat him like he's not like you at all. Take all precautions. See if you can nick antibiotics from the Avenger’s facility. Make sure he's warm. And whatever you do, don't leave him by himself. When he wakes up, he might not remember being at your place.”_

“What if... what if he doesn't wake up?” Steve asked hesitantly.

 _“Hey, now. No talking like that.”_ Sam said firmly. _“He will. You said it yourself, he'll probably be just fine in a matter of days. Now, what I want to know is why he showed up at your front door in the first place.”_

“He... he said my name.”

There was a brief pause. _“Say that again?”_

“He said my name.” Steve spoke up louder, his voice trembling. “He said it, Sam. He knew who I was.”

_“I'll be damned."_

“Do you think.... do you think he's starting to remember...?”

Sam sighed on the other end. _“I wouldn't know, pal. What I do know is that you need to take good care of him.”_

“I will.” Steve promised. “I'll watch over him.”

_“I'm coming over in the morning, okay?”_

“Sure.”

_“And, Steve?”_

“Yeah?”

 _“Get some rest.”_ Sam's voice softened. _“You know you won't do yourself any good by running yourself in circles.”_

“I'll try.” Steve said truthfully.

They hung up and Steve placed his phone down on his bed.

Steve took his pillow and took it downstairs with him. There, he tossed it on the floor a few feet from where Bucky lay silently, and he curled up with it comfortably. The carpet was no where near as favorable as his bed was, but laying like this with his gaze settled upon Buck, he knew there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

* * *

 

* * *

 

Steve slept for a solid eight hours. He woke as the sun was rising and shining pale light through the open window. He sat up and stretched.

It was only then did the memories of last night come flooding back to him. The knock at his door, _Bucky_...

He froze for a heart beat before turning his head quickly to his left.

Bucky laid at the couch, his hair streaked across his face. His mouth was turned into a deep frown; even out of consciousness, he was still so focused.

Steve's gaze softened and he rose to his feet. He walked silently over to the Soldier, and crouched down beside him. He gently moved the strands of hair that covered his eyes, and, using the back of his index finger, he trailed down his cheek slowly. The fever was still there, burning hot as ever.

If anything, it felt a touch better than it did last night.

In his sleep, Bucky appeared so much younger than his twenty-seven years. How terribly Steve wanted to brush away the deep lines of stress and anxiety on his face, to kiss away any tension that remained...

Steve rubbed his brow tiredly.

He could not be thinking like that.

The doorbell rang and Steve knew it was Sam. When he opened the door, Sam was wearing a smile.

“Sam,” Steve greeted him appreciatively, letting him inside. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Sam slid his shoes off near the front door and when he spoke, his words were quiet, “So how is he this morning?”

“Still out,” Steve sighed, leading him to the living room. “Come see."

When they entered the room, Sam gave a low whistle. “Never thought I'd live to see the day the Winter Soldier was passed out on Captain America's couch.”

Steve's heart ached. “Yeah, well...”

“Sorry.” Sam apologized. “Anyways, mind if I take a look?”

“At him?”

“Yeah. I'm no medic, but I might be able to offer a second opinion."

“By all means.”

Sam pulled up a chair beside Bucky and he took a seat. He laid the back of his hand across his forehead, grunting in surprise. He then used both hands and brought them upon the top of his neck. His thumbs pressed into his throat gently, feeling around.

“He's real swollen here,” He mumbled. “Might be strep or something.”

“What do we do?” Steve asked urgently.

“We keep him hydrated.” Sam glimpsed up to him. “Why don't you fill up a glass of water for me? That'd be a good start.”

Steve hurried to the kitchen. He returned with a cup of water and handed it to Sam.

“Alright. Now comes the fun part. I'm gonna need you to tilt his head up for me while I tip the water down his throat.”

“It won't-” Steve gulped. “He won't choke, will he?”

“That's why I need you to keep his head elevated.” Sam explained patiently. “Think you can do it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course...”

Very carefully, Steve shifted himself alongside Sam. He gently raised Bucky's head with his hands, guiding him when his head tried to fall to one side.

“Awesome. Now just hold him still like that.”

Sam touched the rim of the glass to Bucky's lips and began to slowly pour the liquid into his mouth. The water pooled in his mouth and trickled to one side.

“Come on, bud, I need you to work with me here.” Sam grumbled to Bucky as Steve tried letting his head fall back a little further. “Swallow.”

“Lemme try.” Steve grasped his head gingerly with only one hand, and with his second hand, he stroked his pale throat, from beneath his chin to where his collarbones met. He did this several times, and slowly, the water began to run down his throat.

Sam looked up. “How'd you know to do that?”

“He used to do that for me when we were kids and I refused to take my medicine.” Steve said quietly. “Makes you swallow.”

They worked like this for several minutes – Sam tipping water into his mouth and Steve rubbing at his throat to make him drink it. By the time the glass was gone, they were both satisfied that he had enough to drink.

“Let's see if we can't get an IV from medbay.” Sam was saying as he rinsed the glass in the kitchen sink. “That way he'll be able to get his fluids.”

“Thanks, Sam." Steve said quietly, watching Bucky worriedly. His lips were a touch redder from the water, and it was good to see color in his face.

“Do you think,” Steve began hesitantly, but broke off and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“Do I think what?” Sam dried his hands and walked over to him.

“Forget it.”

“Tell me.”

Steve looked up to him, and asked nervously, “He remembered my name. Do you think that means he remembers... us? What we were?”

Sam didn't respond.

“Maybe it's why he showed up here.” Steve urged him, trying desperately to convince both himself and Sam. “Maybe he knew that he'd be safe here. With me.”

The room fell into silence – except for the sound of Bucky's harsh breathing. His chest was falling and rising with each breath, but it was far too shallow.

“That sounds painful.” Sam said, and rested his hand on Bucky's chest above the twin blankets. He sighed and shook his head before withdrawing. “This kid needs to be looked at by a professional.”

“Well, if you know one that doesn't know anything about the Winter Soldier, call me.”

“He's been huge in the media lately,” Sam agreed. “The Soldier. Some people got good footage of the fight beneath the bridge, and it's still trending.”

“Great.” Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like we needed that on top of everything else.”

“It'll fade, just like everything on the internet does.” Sam shrugged. “Cut his hair and put him in normal clothing and no one will even know it's him in a few week's time.”

Steve inched closer to Bucky. He raised his hand to his hair, where he began to stroke slowly. He felt the tangles, the greasy and thin strands slipping between his fingers.

“When we were just boys,” Steve began slowly. “We would always joke about Buck growin' out his hair. He repelled the idea. Said he didn't wanna look like no dame.”

He rubbed at Bucky's hair slowly, rolling his fingernails across his skin lovingly. He tenderly massaged his scalp with one hand, running his thumb in slow deep circles.

“That so?” Sam asked quietly.

“He was so damn proud of his stupid hair when we were kids,” Steve whispered. “Said it was his best feature.” He hastily rubbed his eyes. “I-I always thought his smile was the most beautiful thing about him.”

“Hey, there.” Sam murmured, laying a hand upon Steve's shoulder. “It's okay, Steve. It'll all be alright again. It'll be just as it was before. You'll have him back and then you both will be able to laugh at his hair all over again. It'll be like old times.”

Steve nodded shakily but forged on with running his hands through Bucky's hair. He pressed a kiss to his blazing forehead, and then Steve could have sworn he felt Bucky's breath come more deeply. More steadily.

He was relaxing.

“You'll be alright, Buck.” Steve whispered against his hair. “You'll be right back at it again. I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve manages to steal an IV drip system from the Avengers Facility.
> 
> After 3 days, Bucky wakes up.

Later that day, Steve went out.

Sam volunteered to stay at his place to keep an eye on Bucky and text him if there were any changes.

First, he went to the drugstore. He picked up a bottle of maximum-strength fever reducers and painkillers, and tried unsuccessfully to smile like nothing was wrong at the lady working the cash register.

“Feeling alright, Captain?” She giggled as she scanned the bottles.

“Ah- yes. Yes. Um. They're for, uh, a friend.”

She winked and slid them into a plastic bag. “I'm sure.”

Steve paid quickly and ducked out of the drugstore. He swore under his breath as he climbed into his truck, shaking his head to himself.

He should have sent Sam to do this.

His Ford purred beneath him as turned the ignition and took off towards the new Avenger's facility.

He knew that the hard part would not be getting into the building – it would be getting out.

His footsteps echoed through the empty halls as he raced down to the medbay. He flashed uneasy smiles to whoever caught his eye, trying his best to appear casual.

Casual was not his middle name.

“Captain!”

A voice called out suddenly, making Steve freeze in his tracks.

He spun around to meet the gaze of a young new recruit, a lad with curls for hair and deep eyes. The last name on his uniform read _Turner_.

“Yes?” He prompted hastily.

“Agent Barton wanted me to give these to you, sir.” He offered him a pile of papers.

Steve took them with a frown, scanning through them quickly. They were KIA and MIA reports.

“The hell does Clint want me to do with these?” He asked, confused.

“He just told me to give them to you, sir.” Turner shifted his weight. “Unless they go somewhere else...”

“No, I'll take them. Thank you, Private.”

Turner spun on his heels and began to walk away, but that was when Steve was struck with an idea.

Medbay had a loading dock. The only problem was that it was moderated and parking was prohibited.

He paused.

If Steve had a second person to drive his truck and park it within the loading dock, he would have a much easier time transferring the IV drip system – _all_ of it – into his truck.

“Hey, Turner!” He called abruptly, and the Private turned around, surprised to be addressed. “Yes?”

“Can you drive?”

* * *

 

* * *

 

Steve burst through the front door, one hand carrying the grocery bag and the other supporting the IV system.

“Sam?” He called out.

“In the kitchen.” Sam's head appeared around the corner. He blinked when he saw the contents in Steve's arms. “Holy hell. You grabbed the whole thing?”

“I had help."

Steve placed the bag from the drugstore on the kitchen counter, then wheeled the IV system into the living room.

“I don't really know how these work,” He admitted then, looking up to Sam.

“You're lucky I do. Move over.”

They filled the IV bag and Sam carefully slid the needle into Bucky's right arm. He then adjusted the stand closer to the couch, and Steve watched as the liquid travelled down the tube.

“And this'll give him what he needs?”

“Fluids, at least. Which is what's most important.” Sam nodded.

“He's gonna have a panic attack when he wakes up.”

“Probably. Let's just hope we're here when he does.”

Steve moved closer to Bucky's form, and he suddenly frowned deeply.

There was a hint of red upon his chest that disappeared underneath the blanket. He slowly slid the blanket away from his skin, and his eyes widened.

“Sam,” he said faintly. “This wasn't here earlier.”

There was a rash of irritated skin that blemished his lower chest. It was raw and red and clearly agitated.

“Oh, shit.” Sam muttered. “Well, that can't be good.”

“I've got lotion,” Steve stood up suddenly.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “No lotion. That'll just agitate it.”

“Then what do we do?” Steve protested.

“We gotta leave it. But you can't keep it covered no more.”

“But he'll freeze!”

“I'd rather him a bit chilly than that rash spreading.” Sam said simply. “Don't you agree?”

Steve hesitated but nodded slowly.

“I think it's Scarlet.” Sam continued with a deep sigh. “Though I've never heard of it in adults before. But it can happen.”

Steve had heard of Scarlet Fever. He was seven the first time he caught it, then eleven when it happened again. It was a nightmare.

“Olive oil.” Steve spoke up suddenly.

Sam looked to him. “What's that?”

“My mom used to put olive oil on my rashes when I had Scarlet.” Steve recalled. “Even if it's not the same thing, it'll still help his skin.”

“You got any?”

“Yeah.” Steve walked into the kitchen and took the small bottle from his cabinet.

He took a cloth and doused it in the thick oil. He then returned to Sam and Bucky, and gently laid the rag upon the rash.

“There we are,” He murmured to Bucky. “That should help.”

He slowly rubbed the cloth against the rash, careful not to further irritate it, but enough so that all of the skin was coated evenly with the oil. Steve then pressed his palm against the rag and left it there, but he didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he began to rub his skin slowly, tracing his index finger up and down his chest slowly.

He remembered doing this during the war.

When it was just the two of them, naked and vulnerable and content as could be, they'd curl up together to simply touch one another.

To simply _feel_ each other. Steve would always trace meaningless patterns and shapes across his warm skin, especially his chest. He had loved feeling the strong muscles beneath his touch.

Bucky would shiver and chuckle, kissing his forehead and murmuring, _'you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Stevie'_ , and Steve would kiss the center of his chest softly in return.

To be held, to be _loved_...

He knew it soothed Bucky in a way nothing else truly could.

But now...

Would Bucky even remember that?

* * *

 

* * *

 

Two days passed. Sam spent those days living in Steve's house. He supplied for food by occasionally ordering pizza and occasionally cooking. He also was the one to keep watch over Bucky when Steve had to reluctantly leave to the Avengers Facility for meetings and such.

Steve was tense whenever anyone spoke to him, especially when it was Tony. He had tried greeting Steve just the other day, but it was all Steve could manage to give him a quick 'hey' before ducking off. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was tracked down and interrogated – Tony didn't appreciate when his own teammates were unnerved around him.

Steve spend most of time at home. He didn't even go to the gym.

One morning, he sat on the chair opposite of where Bucky lay with a lap full of the papers sent from Clint. He flicked through them slowly, trying to understand why he may have sent them towards him. They were all KIA and MIA cases dating back to when S.H.I.E.L.D. was first created. They included everyone from politicians to agents. The number of forms was staggering.

And then Steve found it.

Bucky's file.

It wasn't the same file that he had fetched those few months ago.

This one was different.

It wasn't the Winter Soldier's file.

It was the file of James Buchanan Barnes.

There was a picture of Bucky, dressed in his uniform, that standard-issue hat tucked over his styled hair. His eyes were glinting and there was a crooked smile on his face.

Steven touched the black-and-white photo softly with his fingertips, as if he could somehow reach back through time.

He unclipped the photo from the file and took out his wallet, where he tucked it in securely.

S.H.I.E.L.D. could always print out a new one.

Steve set the files aside and rose to his feet.

“Sam?” He called out.

“Yeah?” Came his voice in another room.

“I'm going for a run.” His eyes fell to Bucky. His stubble was no longer as patchy. It was growing out just a touch.

“Keep an eye on Buck for me?”

“Sure thing.” Steve changed into his workout outfit before stepping outside. He made sure his phone was tucked away in his pocket, before beginning a brisk jog down the street.

The world around him seemed to have recovered from the storm well. As he travelled down the next street over, he could tell that many trees were missing branches that had been strewn in odd angles.

The air felt amazing in his lungs. One thing Steve adored about the rain was how _fresh_ it made everything. He ran five miles north before pausing and considered heading home. He took a brief break near a park, where he took the liberty of finding a water fountain.

His phone vibrated.

Steve withdrew it from his pocket.

It was a text from Sam.

He suddenly felt the breath leave his body in a rush as his eyes met the message in front of him.

_> He's up._

Steve raced back home in under fifteen minutes.

* * *

 

* * *

 

Steve was out of breath by the time he reached the front door. He swung it open without a moment's hesitation and he hurried into the living room.

Bucky was sitting upright, his right arm clenched into the arm of the couch as though it was the only thing supporting him. His head was bowed, long mangled hair covering his face.

Steve walked slowly up to him, knees trembling, and he crouched down in front of him.

“Buck...” He whispered, laying a tender hand upon his knee.

Bucky flinched, his head jerking to one side.

“O-oh... Bucky...” Steve choked out, his voice shaking. “ _Bucky_.”

Slowly, Bucky's head rose.

His gaze was unsettling.

His eyes were dark, the shadows beneath them still so prominent, and his face was colorless. His cheekbones were gaunt, and his expression was too drawn. His lips were thin and rid of any emotion.

Steve wound his arms around his waist tightly and buried his head against his stomach, sobbing.

Bucky didn't move.

“I-I didn't know if you were gonna wake up.” Steve whispered against his bare skin. “It's been three _days_...”

And then he spoke.

His voice was soft and broken, rough with disuse and fever. Steve knew in his heart that it was the only sentence he could manage.

“I'm sorry.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam leaves.
> 
> Bucky remembers.

Steve watched as Bucky's gaze traveled down to the needle in the bend of his right arm.

He stared at the point where the metal sunk into his flesh, his gaze unblinking and unfazed.

“Buck,” Steve spoke softly, as to not disturb the thoughts that may have been running through his head. “Do you know where you are?”

Bucky's eyes slid closed then, and Steve held his breath.

“I'm... in New York.” Came the low murmur, “I think...”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, taking a deep breath before encouraging, “That's good, Buck. That's right.”

Blue eyes slowly opened, and his gaze was focused upon Sam's face. “... who's he?”

“This is Sam. Sam Wilson.” Steve answered carefully. “He's on our side. He was the one helping me find you.”

Bucky didn't respond. He leaned back until his back was resting against the couch and he closed his eyes again.

He looked terrible, Steve realized guiltily.

“I know you want to sleep,” Steve began quietly, “And I promise I'll let you.”

“What do you want from me?” Bucky whispered, his eyes opening.

“I need you to tell me what happened to you.” Steve's heart burned at Bucky's scared eyes. “To tell me what's wrong. So we can help make you feel better.”

“I just...” Bucky mumbled, supporting his head with his right hand that leaned against the arm of the couch. “I...”

He was fading fast, Steve thought.

“Sam,” Steve turned to him. “Do you mind...?”

Sam held up both hands in surrender. “Not a problem, Cap.”

He turned and left the room.

“There we go.” Steve faced Bucky once more. “Now it's just the two of us.”

Steve rose to his feet only to crouch down in front of Bucky. He spoke lowly, “I'm going to place my hand in different areas. All I need you to do is tell me if it hurts there. That's all I need. Is that okay?”

Bucky watched him wearily.

Steve selected his next words with caution. “May I touch you?”

For several moments, Bucky didn't move.

Then, after a minute, he gave a tiny nod.

“Okay,” Steve breathed. “Perfect. This'll be over before you know it.”

Steve sat up a little further, and Bucky tensed as he reached towards him with a single hand.

“It's alright,” Steve murmured as he gently laid his hand on the side of his head. Bucky watched him fearfully, stiff under his touch.

“Excellent.” Steve praised him warmly. “Now, does it hurt here?”

Bucky was frozen still. His eyes were wide in terror, fixed upon Steve.

“I won't hurt you,” Steve told him. “You're my friend, Buck. You always have been.”

“It...” Bucky began brokenly. “It hurts.”

“Okay. Good. That's what I needed to know.” Steve smiled. “You have a headache. That's normal with a fever.”

Steve removed his hand and gently, very gently, laid two fingers upon the middle of his throat.

Bucky sucked in a harsh breath suddenly at the contact, and he jerked away.

Steve immediately withdrew. “It's okay. Everything's okay. I just need to know if your throat is sore.”

Bucky rubbed anxiously at his neck, his skittish eyes meeting everywhere but Steve's.

“It hurts to talk, doesn't it?” Steve inquired, “To swallow.”

“How... do you know...?”

“I was sick a lot as a kid, Buck. I know how awful and debilitating it is, to feel that weak.” His voice softened. “That's why I want you to feel better as soon as possible.”

How badly Steve wanted to reach out for his hand, to hold his face, to kiss him softly and tell him how everything would be alright again...

He pushed those thoughts from his head.

“How long have you been sick?” Steve asked him. “How long have you not been feeling well?”

Bucky's head shook to the smallest degree. “I don't know.”

“Buck, you gotta work with me here-”

“I don't know.”

Steve took his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it gently as he thought hard.

Bucky slowly raised his gaze to him. “Minutes feel like hours. Hours feel like days.” He struggled to finish. “I don't _know_.”

“Alright,” Steve said, laying a hand on his knee to comfort him. Bucky's eyes flickered to the touch.

“That's fine, Buck.” Steve agreed reluctantly. “That's fine. It's okay if you don't know.”

Bucky's lips parted, as though he were about to speak, but his mouth closed and instead his eyes fell closed.

“What is it? Go on. You can tell me anything.” Steve squeezed his knee gently.

“I don't...” Bucky's voice was faint. “I-I don't feel so good.”

Something deep within Steve ached.

He pulled his hand away with a quiet, “I'll let you sleep now. I'm sorry I kept you up.”

Bucky didn't reply. He let his head fall back against the couch.

Steve got up and fetched a cloth from the kitchen, which he dampened under the sink. When he returned to Bucky's side, he took a seat beside him. Bucky didn't move or give any indication that he knew he was there, but Steve was positive he was aware of his presence.

Steve began to gently dab the wet cloth against his fevered brow. He moved slowly, as to not alarm Buck, and he tried to make his motions as careful as he possibly could.

“Just relax, okay?” Steve told him quietly. “This'll feel good if you let it. Promise.”

Bucky didn't move. But slowly, very slowly, he began to relax into his touches. His head tipped towards Steve, his breath coming through his parted lips softly.

“That’s it…” Steve smiled half to himself and half to Bucky. “With luck, this should help bring down that fever of yours.”

Bucky was asleep moments later.

* * *

* * *

 

Sam left later that day.

Bucky remained fast asleep on Steve’s sofa. By the time night had fallen, Steve decided that he, too, would try and get some rest.

He walked upstairs and removed his shirt and jeans to change into a pair of shorts. He splayed on on his bed, tucked his blanket over his body, and closed his eyes.

Steve didn’t know how long he was asleep for before he heard it - a loud _thud_ that echoed through the house.

His eyes flipped open and he hurriedly got out of bed. He raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and jogged into the living room.

“Buck?” He called out as he rounded the corner. His eyes widened briefly. “Buck!”

Bucky was kneeling on the ground, his hands curled into the carpet beneath. He was panting heavily, eyes closed, his entire body quaking.

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve breathed as he crouched down beside him and laid a hand on his back. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I was…” He panted out. “I tried…”

“Take a breath.” Steve instructed. “It’s okay. Calm down now, everything’s alright.”

Bucky obeyed, filling his lungs with air before releasing it again slowly. He did this several times, each breath a little less shaky than the last.

“Atta boy.” Steve rubbed his back slowly. “That’s it.”

“I-” Bucky choked out, his form slumping forward. “I-I’m gonna be sick.”

“Okay,” Steve said quickly, “Hold onto me.”

Trembling, Bucky wrapped his left arm around Steve’s shoulders, gasping as Steve rose him to his feet. He stumbled.

“Lean against me. I can take it.” Steve promised him.

By the time they reached the bathroom, all color had left Bucky’s face and his right arm was drawn right around his middle. He sunk to his knees as Steve positioned him in front of the toilet, and he gripped the edges of the basin before retching.

Steve immediately reached his hair, tucking back any stray locks. He held him steady as he coughed up what little was in his stomach. Bucky gasped for breath, looking up at Steve for a split second before bowing his head again. He shuddered, his frame wracked with violent tremors. His body lurched with each bout.

Bucky moaned, a deep sound full of agony, and Steve realized that it was stomach acid he was losing.

It was all Steve could do to sit there and rub his back and speak to him.

“That’s it, Buck, just let it out.” He murmured, stroking his spine. “You’re doin’ perfect. I know it hurts. I know it does.”

Bucky pulled back and collapsed against the marble wall behind him, heaving for a breath. He was sobbing.

Steve snatched a strip of toilet paper, bunched it up, and gently cleaned his mouth and chin.

“You did just fine,” Steve told him as he wiped him clean. “Buck, you were tossin’ up acid. When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

“I-I-I,” Bucky stuttered, tears dribbling down his gaunt cheeks.

“Hey there,” Steve smiled softly. “It’s okay. Take a minute to collect yourself.”

“I-I’m fine.” Bucky scrubbed his eyes.

“What do you need from me?” Steve asked him softly, carefully. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel better, even if it’s just a little.”

Bucky tucked his knees to his chest and his arms wound around them. He bowed his head. He was so miserable, Steve thought with an aching heart.

“I liked…” Bucky spoke up, his voice hoarse and broken. “I-I liked when you were… r-rubbing my back…?”

Something warm burst within Steve at those words. He smiled. “Of course. Anything.”

He pressed the flat of his palm against Bucky’s back and began to apply a gentle and loving pressure as he moved in slow ovals. Bucky’s muscles were wound tight beneath his touch, but gradually, he began to slump into the ministrations.

When Steve spoke, his voice was very quiet. “A long time ago, I had caught the flu. It wasn’t nearly as bad as what you’ve got now, but still, you were there for me. You fed me and made sure I drank enough. You stayed by my side when no one else would have.”

“Or the time…” Bucky mumbled lowly, “You… you got a stomachache from eating too much cotton candy at Coney Island.”

Steve’s eyes widened.

“You remember that?” He whispered.

“You were sick all night.” Bucky’s head rose slightly, hooded eyes staring forward. “You slept in my bed, ‘cause you were so restless everywhere else.”

With his other hand, Steve reached out for his.

He froze halfway, and withdrew.

Now was not the time.

Slowly, Bucky’s body leaned towards Steve. Alarmed that he may have been falling asleep, Steve wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“Buck? You doin’ okay?”

“I’m okay.” He whispered.

“You sound better.” Steve said truthfully.

Bucky opened his mouth respond, but was suddenly overtaken. His eyes widened and he scrambled for the toilet. His mouth opened and he retched, but nothing came out. He heaved, metal arm curling around his stomach in pain.

When the dry heaves passed, Bucky groaned and fell back against the wall once more. He rubbed at his middle slowly, his eyes scrunched shut.

“S-Steven..."

“I’m here.” Steve said urgently. “What do you need?”

“You… you spoke too soon.”

And then the corners of his lips tugged ever so slightly upwards.

It was a _smile_.

“You punk.” Bucky whispered, before his eyes slid closed.

Steve could have cried. He held Bucky close, weaving a hand through his sweaty hair, shutting his eyes tight as he held him. Bucky’s breathing came in easier and more slowly, his eyelashes fluttering closed and brushing against Steve’s neck.

He had fallen asleep.

In Steve’s arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is laughter.
> 
> There are tears.
> 
> Bucky falls off the couch.

Steve hummed to the music that played from his Blu-Tooth setup as he stirred the chicken noodle soup. It was just beginning to bubble around the edges. He tapped the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot before laying it aside. He opened a nearby cabinet and took a bowl.

After the soup had found a steady boil, he switched off the stove and poured the soup into the bowl. Steve grabbed for a spoon and took both that and the bowl over into the living room.

Bucky laid curled up on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. When Steve laid a hand upon his shoulder, he twitched and startled into awareness.

“I made you soup.” Steve pointed out helpfully as Bucky’s eyes found the bowl in his hand.

Bucky stared at him.

“And before you ask, no, it’s not poisoned.” Steve took the liberty of sitting down beside him.

Bucky tensed.

Steve smiled warmly and offered the bowl to him. “I don’t know how well it’ll stay down, but we should definitely try and have you eat something.”

Bucky nodded slowly, a tiny movement, and took the bowl from Steve’s hands. His fingers were quaking. His metal joints creaked in protest as it curled around the spoon.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it do that before.” Steve commented lightheartedly.

“Hasn’t been oiled in a while.” Bucky mumbled as he lifted the spoon.

“I’ll get you some.” Steve promised him.

Bucky slowly raised the spoon to his lips, but his hand was trembling so terribly that the soup was sploshing out of the spoon before it even made it to his mouth.

“Here,” Steve smiled and he eased the spoon from his hand.

Bucky froze. “W-what are you doing?”

“You’re still pretty weak, Buck.” Steve told him gently. “And that’s okay. Why don’t I help you eat?”

“You mean…” Bucky’s voice lowered accusingly. “You want to feed me.”

Steve shrugged. “If you want to think of it that way.”

“I’m not-” Bucky stopped suddenly with a harsh intake of breath, his body stiffening.

“Bucky?” Steve asked worriedly, lowering the spoon into the bowl. “What is it?”

“It’s-” He groaned, his teeth clenching. His right hand pressed against his middle. “It’s just a cramp…”

Steve spoke quietly, “Your stomach hurts, doesn’t it?”

Bucky gasped for a short breath. “I-it’ll pass.”

“Not if we don’t take care of it.” Steve set the bowl of soup on the stand beside the couch. He stood up and found the drugstore bag that rested on the kitchen countertop. He dug through until he found the bottle of painkillers, and he twisted the cap free.

How many to give him? Steve faltered briefly. He himself required nearly seven pulls or so before he felt its effects. He had the serum to thank for that.

He ended up pouring out a dozen or so blue pills. He returned to Bucky’s side with a glass of water and offered both the cup and the pills.

“Take as many as you think you need.” Steve told him as Bucky took the glass from his hands.

Bucky took eight. He swallowed them quickly with one gulp of water.

“Want to try eating again?” Steve asked him as he set the leftover medicine aside.

“I’ll... try.” He said faintly.

Steve took the bowl and spoon once more. He lifted the spoon full of soup to Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky’s eyes cast downwards as he drank from the spoonful. He closed his eyes as he swallowed, then let release a long sigh.

“Bet it feels good just having something in your stomach.” Steve chuckled.

“Yeah.” Bucky murmured. “Does.”

The warmth from the chicken soup was spreading color to Bucky’s lips and cheeks. His lips were flushed red, and even his cheekbones were dusted a very fine pink.

“Buck,” Steve began slowly as Bucky swallowed the next bout of soup. His eyes flickered up towards Steve’s in acknowledgement.

“Do you remember coming to my house?” Steve asked him carefully. He fed him a piece of soft meat, and Bucky chewed thoughtfully.

“I remember.” He rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his right hand.

“Can I ask what all you remember?” Steve asked softly.

“I remember…” His eyes closed. “The rain. The wind… I remember being cold… So cold.”

“With that fever of yours, you must have been freezing.” Steve agreed quietly.

“I remember wanting to go through the window.” Bucky said suddenly, opening his eyes and turning back to Steve. “But I… I couldn’t.”

  
“You were too weak.” Steve nodded in understanding.

“I thought maybe you would have gotten mad at me.”

“Buck, I wouldn’t be mad at you over a broken window.” Steve shook his head, chuckling. “It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

Bucky blinked. “Really?”

“Sure. You broke it once when we were playing baseball outside. We were only kids. You threw the ball and it went straight past me and into the kitchen. Ma was not happy."

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll bet she wasn’t.”

Steve suddenly laughed. “Or how about the time we were playing darts and I put one in the wall?”

Bucky startled. “You did that?”

“Oh yeah. ‘ _Throw harder’,_ you had told me.” Steve recalled. “I wanted to be cool, like you. You always hit the board. So I threw as hard as I could, released it, and-” he imitated the motion, throwing a pretend dart through the air. “- put a hole straight in the wall.”

“Your mom must have had your ass for that.” Bucky mumbled.

“You bet she did.” Steve sighed, laughing quietly. “She was so good to me. You both were. You were both more than I ever deserved.”

“Don’t say that.”

Steve looked up to Buck in surprise. Bucky was still, eyes wide, as if the words slipped his mouth without his intent.

“I-I mean… you probably deserved it.” He stuttered. “If you were anything like the person you are now… I mean…” He groaned, shaking his head. “God damn it…”

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asked him worriedly.

“I… I can’t remember.” He gripped his hair with his left hand, frustration evident in his eyes. “I see images… pictures. But the memories are- they’re not _there_.”

“Tell me what the pictures are.” Steve pushed.

“Of… you. They’re all you. You with blood dripping down your nose. You taking your medicine for your asthma.” His voice hitched. “You- in my bed.”

He moaned, covering his face with his hands. “But _why?_ Why were you in my bed?”

“Tell me more. What else do you see?”

“There’s… there’s a pencil behind your ear. Charcoal smudged on your cheek.”

Steve froze.

He knew of the instance he was speaking of.

It had been the first time…

 _Their_ first time.

Steve had just completed his first charcoal sketch of Bucky. He had been so proud of it - The quirky smirk on his lips, the waves of his hair, the fine lines beside his eyes… he had gotten it all right.

 _‘It looks amazing, Stevie,’_ Bucky had murmured into his ear hotly, kissing the hinge of his jaw. _‘Almost as good as the real thing.’_

 _‘This ain’t half as good as the real thing,’_ Steve had chuckled, tilting his head to the side to grant Bucky further access.

Bucky’s head jerked to one side, and he hissed through his teeth. “It _hurts…_ I don’t understand.” He looked up to Steve desperately. “Why were you there?”

“I-I,” Steve stammered.

“Tell me.” Bucky pleaded him. “Were you sick? Were you spending the night?”

“Yeah,” Steve choked out. “Yeah, Buck. It was just a sleepover.”

Slowly, very slowly, Bucky seemed to relax. He took a deep, pained breath. “O-okay.”

Tears burned in Steve’s eyes before he realized they were even forming.

Bucky didn’t remember.

He didn’t remember their first time.

It had been so magical. Humorous at times, awkward at others, but it had been…

… _perfect._

The way Bucky had held him close, hands wandering across naked skin. The way his mouth left gentle bruises across his flesh, where no one would ever see.

He remembered how much it hurt. How it had burned, how the pressure had been too much to handle in the beginning. He had gasped and he had sobbed, but Bucky was there and he was kissing him and whispering to him and telling him how beautiful he was.

 _‘You’re the only one for me,’_ Bucky had whispered to him. _‘I’ll die happy knowing I was your first.”_

 _‘And my only.’_ Steve had panted, his head falling back against the hard mattress. _‘I-I love you, Buck.’_

“Steve? Steven…?”

Bucky’s voice drew Steve back to the present. He blinked through the tears gathered in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. His voice was tight and choked. “I got caught up.”

“You’re crying.” Bucky pointed out quietly.

Steve lifted a hand to cheeks to feel that they were damp. He rubbed the tears away.

He forced a small, uncertain laugh. “Sorry. I’m just nostalgic.”

“My memories upset you.”

“No!” Steve shook his head. “No. I’m just… I’m happy, you know? That you’re remembering so much.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know… But you’re doing so well.”

An uncomfortable sound fell from Bucky’s mouth at that moment, and his body stiffened as he clutched at his stomach. “God damn it…”

Steve gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. It’s going to take a little while before those meds kick in.”

“This is- this is different.” He gasped out.

Steve’s eyes widened slightly. “It’s the soup, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Bucky panted, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Yeah. It’s coming right back up.”

With that, he ran into the bathroom.

All things considered, Steve was impressed that he made it there without falling to the floor.

* * *

* * *

 

“Why does this need to stay in?” Bucky glared, pointing to the needle in his right arm.

“You can’t even keep water down.” Steve reminded him. “You’re still very dehydrated.”

Bucky sighed but gave in. “Fine…"

Steve smiled. The way he was when he got tired, all cranky and irritated, it really reminded him of the old Bucky.

“Why don’t we watch a movie, Buck?” He suggested then, walking over to his large collection of CDs beside the television.

“A movie?” Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah. We used to love going to the theatres, especially after school when no one was there.” Steve sifted through his discs. “Remember saving up for them? You’d work an extra shift at the yard or I would sell a couple drawings to the newspaper.”

Bucky’s lips twisted thoughtfully. “I remember finding you all beaten up behind the theatre one time.”

“You found me beat up in a lot of places,” Steve chuckled. He selected a Ledger film and inserted it into the CD player. He took the remote and sat down on chair opposite side of the couch where Bucky was.

“That’s right.” Bucky said quietly, tucking his knees up close to his chest. “Your dumb ass was always startin’ fights you couldn’t win.”

The movie started up, and Bucky startled. He looked to Steve, eyes wide. “These things are in color now?”

  
Steve threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, Buck, they sure are. Have been for a while, apparently.”

Bucky just blinked and turned towards the screen.

The movie had been a good choice. Bucky was attentive and curious, and Steve realized that he was transfixed upon Bucky more than he was by the movie. The way his head would tilt ever so slightly to the left when the tension rose, the way he would startle when someone received a particularly hard blow, the way he would chuckle at a funny comment…

It was just like going to a movie with Bucky during the war.

Halfway through the film, however, Bucky’s eyelids began to droop. His eyes would close for a brief second before opening them quickly, holding them open wide, refusing to blink. But after a little while, they would fall closed once more, and the pattern would repeat.

Steve only hid a small smile behind his hand as he watched him fondly.

Bucky gave up soon enough, it seemed, because he then stretched out on the couch. He arched his back for a brief moment before settling down and tucking his right arm beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. His left hand he pressed against his forehead, and Steve suspected it probably felt good against his fevered brow.

His eyes closed and stayed closed.

By the time the movie was nearly over, Steve was positive that Bucky had fallen asleep. He took the remote and turned down the volume.

In sleep, Bucky didn’t look so terribly stressed - from the remembering, from the anxiety of having Steve around; it was all gone and replaced with a look of peace and calm.

One thing that Steve was still very concerned about was the patch of raw skin upon his chest. The rash hadn’t gone away, and it worried Steve.

He forced the thought out of his head and replaced it with the knowledge that he would apply more olive oil to it in the morning.

Steve heard an odd noise - something between a gasp and a choke - and he turned towards Bucky.

“Buck?” He asked softly.

Bucky was frowning deeply in rest, his brow scrunched and his lips drawn tight. He twitched once, his body lurching to one side, and suddenly- he’s falling.

_Thud._

Steve winced.

Bucky’s head had collided straight with the edge of the coffee table.

Bucky gasped into awareness, scrambling to his knees. “W-what the-?”

Steve padded over to him, crouching down. “You alright? You took quite the tumble there.”

“Where- what-?” Bucky looked both ways, alarmed. Then suddenly he calmed. “Oh. Steven.”

“It’s me.” Steve agreed. He frowned a bit when he saw a thin trickle of blood running down his temple. “Wait, hold still.”

He reached towards Bucky, who flinched away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Hey.” Steve offered both hands, and spoke softly, “It’s alright, Buck. I’m not making fun of you. You’re bleeding, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Bucky hesitated. “Oh.”

He then raised a hand to his head, gingerly touching the wound, and pulled back a hand stained with blood. He wasn’t fazed.

“Let me feel.” Steve reached forward with both hands, and this time, Bucky let him. In fact, as Steve began to feel around with his hand, he let go a loose sigh and his eyes closed.

“Feel good or somethin’?” Steve joked lightly as he brushed his hair away from the gash that resided on the right side of his head.

 

"Yeah..." Bucky breathed. "I guess it does."

Steve sought out the edges of the gash, gently tracing them with his finger. It was fairly decent in size, a good inch and a half long, but the bleeding was already slowing. His healing would have the cut gone by morning.

“Good news, you won’t need stitches.” Steve chuckled. “Although your pride, I don’t know how long that’ll take to heal.”

Bucky gave a small smile. Steve felt his breath hitch in his chest.

Everything may have changed, he realized, and there are memories that he knew Bucky may never retrieve, but there was one thing he knew would last forever - the beauty in his smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve remembers an old memory.
> 
> Bucky makes it up the stairs.

Steve could hear the coughing from his room upstairs.

It was ragged and rough, wrought and torn.

Steve rolled over onto his side miserably, curling up with his blanket to his chest.

Bucky was suffering and there was nothing he could do.

Water hadn’t helped, nor had cough medicine or drops. He had tried everything.

A deep and pained groan echoed through the house, and Steve’s heart ached. He covered his ears with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut.

_‘Steve? Hey, Steve! Open up!’_

_Steve sighed tiredly as he opened the front door, but his weary gaze turned into a smile as he saw Bucky standing there._

_‘Hey, Buck.’_

_‘I didn’t see you at school today.’ Bucky offered him a few papers. ‘Here’s the homework you missed.’_

_‘Oh… thank you.’ Steve took the papers gratefully. ‘I really appreciate that.’_

_Bucky lingered. ‘So... why weren’t you at school? Your ma need you for something? Got some family stuff goin’ on?’_

_Steve chuckled and shook his head. ‘Nothing like that. I’m just feeling under the weather, is all. I didn’t want anyone else to catch it.’_

_Bucky was alarmed. ‘You’re sick?’ he demanded. ‘How come you didn’t tell me?’_

_Steve shrugged. ‘Didn’t want you to worry.’_

_Bucky sighed, exasperated as he shook his head. ‘I’ll always worry about you, Steve.’ He reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing fondly. ‘Ain’t nothing you can do about that.’_

_Steve offered a small smile. ‘You wanna come in?’_

_‘Love to.’ Buck said with a goofy grin. ‘Your ma home?’_

_‘Would it matter if she was?’ A hint of a tease slid into Steve’s voice. He stepped aside and Bucky walked inside._

_‘Nah. ‘s just my mom wanted to tell her hi.’_

_‘Mm-hm. Well, anyways, there’s some food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.’_

_‘I was kinda hoping I’d be able to see some more of your drawings.’ Bucky admitted. ‘If that’s alright, you know.’_

_Steve’s smile broadened. ‘How did you know I was drawing today?’_

_‘You’re_ always _drawin’.’_

_‘True enough.’ Steve made a motion for him to follow. ‘Come on. They’re in my room.’_

_Bucky followed eagerly. As they were walking down the short hall, he reached out and tucked his hand around Steve’s waist, tugging him closer to him._

_Steve giggled, prying at his fingers. ‘Cut that out. I ain’t one of your ladies.’_

_‘That’s true.’ Bucky smirked. ‘You’re even better than them.’_

_Color rose high on Steve’s cheeks, and he ducked his head bashfully. ‘You don’t mean that.’_

_‘Of course I do!’ Bucky hooked his jaw with his index finger, gently tugging his gaze upwards. ‘Stevie, look at me. You’re what those stupid dames wish they could be.’_

_‘Scrawny and sick and only good with a pencil?’_

_‘Beautiful.’ Bucky said firmly. ‘Beautiful, caring,_ talented _. You have what they’ll never own up to.’_

_The color on Steve’s face flushed further. ‘Shut up, you idiot.’_

_He leaned up on his tippy-toes and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Bucky’s lips. Bucky chuckled and wound his arms further around him before kissing him deeply in return. Steve sighed, his eyes fluttering closed._

_Bucky’s hands wandered, one traveling up his chest while the other delved downwards. He squeezed his rear, emitting a tiny squeak from Steve._

_Steve pulled away suddenly, his eyes widening briefly before he was overcome with a coughing fit. He was quick to cover his mouth with his sleeve, his eyes shutting tight as he coughed._

_‘Whoa, whoa, there.’ Bucky was quick to soothe him, rubbing a hand over his chest slowly. ‘You got that? Breathe, Stevie.’_

_‘I-I’m o-okay.’ Steve choked out. Once the fit had passed, he winced and shook his head. ‘I-I’m sorry, that was far from attractive.’_

_Bucky laughed and pressed a kiss to his brow. ‘There ain’t much you could do to make me find you unattractive.’_

_‘Knowing me, I’ll find a way.’ Steve closed his eyes tiredly._

_‘Hey now,’ Bucky murmured, lowering his voice as he held Steve. ‘You alright?’_

_‘Mm… I’m good. Just a bit sleepy, is all.’_

_‘Here, lean on me. That’s it. I’ll get you to bed.’ Bucky lifted him into his arms gently, holding him as though he were a small child, with his legs tucked around his waist and his face buried in the crook of Bucky’s neck_

_‘Good thing you’re so light, punk.’ Bucky hummed._

_‘One day,’ Steve began groggily. ‘I’m gonna get taller. And then I’ll be the one carrying you around. I don’t care what kinda looks we get.’_

_‘I look forward to it.’ Bucky promised, smiling broadly. ‘But for now, let’s focus on taking care of you.’_

_They reached Steve’s bedroom, and Bucky gently laid him upon the cheap mattress. It was nearly hard as a rock, but Steve curled right up._

_‘Thanks, Buck.’ Steve murmured, ‘You’re so good to me.’_

_‘It’s what you deserve.’ Bucky whispered as he knelt down beside him. He stroked the bangs from his forehead slowly, and Steve arched to the touch._

_‘I love you, Stevie. Always have. Always will.’_

Steve’s eyes opened slowly.

That memory was decades old.

Somehow, it had survived.

They had only been a couple of weeks into their courting when that memory had taken place.

Bucky had always been there for him, he realized as he sat up, even if there was nothing he could do but keep him company.

Steve rose to his feet. He padded through his room until he reached the closed door, and he twisted the knob and swung it open.

Steve was met with Bucky’s gaze - he was standing right there, still clad in Steve’s sweatpants with a blanket drawn around his shoulders.

Bucky jumped in shock, startled, and he stuttered out, “I-I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be up here.”

Steve grinned in his surprise. “Hey, Buck. Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you made it up the stairs okay.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t easy.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Did you need something?”

“I was-” He broke off with a harsh cough that he hid into the crook of his arm. “I was wondering if… if maybe I could…” He swallowed hard, refusing to meet Steve’s gaze.

Steve brow furrowed in worry. “You hungry?”

Bucky shook his head. “N-no, I… fuck it.” He mumbled. “It’s stupid.”

Steve gave a small smile. “Did you want to sleep up here with me?”

Bucky didn’t respond. His lips drew tight, his eyes staring down at the ground. Steve reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

Just like Bucky used to do.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” Bucky said in a small voice. “Promise. Won’t bother you or nothin’.”

“You’ll sleep in the bed.” Steve corrected him. “I’ll take the floor.”

“No,” Bucky protested. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”

“Then sleep in bed with me.”

“I’ll just go back downstairs- wait,” Bucky faltered, “What was that?”

“Why don’t we share the bed?” Steve grinned. “I’ll take one side and you can take the other.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to the bed behind Steve.

“It’s much more comfortable than the sofa, I can promise you that.” Steve added.

“Did we… did we ever sleep in the same bed before?” Bucky asked softly.

Steve's stomach lurched. “How do you mean?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Buck,” Steve began slowly. “I think you do.”

Bucky swallowed with visible effort. He shuddered once, drawing the blanket closer to his body. “I remember waking up… opening my eyes… and seeing you there.”

“Well, sure.” Steve thought hard briefly. “We used to have sleepovers at each others' houses sometimes. Other times, if I wasn't feeling all that great, you'd let me rest beside you.”

“So,” Bucky licked his lips nervously. “It's okay if we sleep together now?”

“Of course it is.” Steve gave him a warm smile.

Steve stepped aside and offered him entrance into the room, and Bucky stepped inside hesitantly. He tucked his blanket a little closer, covering his bare chest.

For the briefest of moments, Steve was struck with the recollection of the two of them running through the house as boys, with blankets tied around their necks and pretending they were heroes of Brooklyn.

He couldn't help but wonder if Bucky remembered that.

Bucky curled up into a tight ball at the far end of Steve's bed, facing the wall.

Steve gave a small and sad smile.

_'C'mere, Stevie,' Bucky crooned, splaying out on his bed with his arms open wide. 'Bucky's had a hard day... come give him a cuddle.'_

_'Bucky can cuddle himself.' Steve smirked, not looking up from the sketch in his hands as he applied careful contrast to the drawing. 'I'm busy.'_

A soft yawn emitted from Bucky's mouth, pulling Steve away from the memory.

Steve looked over to him fondly, and asked, “You comfy?”

“Yeah...” Bucky murmured softly. “... 'night, Steve.”

Steve's heart swelled.

“Good night, Bucky.” He whispered in return.

Steve laid down on his side of the bed, facing Bucky, tucking his hands beneath his pillow.

Steve watched as Bucky's breathing slowly leveled out and began to gradually slow down.

At one point in his sleep, Bucky rolled over onto his back, his head tipped towards Steve.

Steve reached out towards him with one hand. Two of his fingers brushed against the tips of Bucky's.

Slowly, very slowly, Bucky's fingers curled around his.

Steve held his breath.

Bucky was clutching at his hand like a scared child would.

Even in the comforts of sleep, Bucky felt so terribly vulnerable.

And it made Steve's heart _ache_.

Steve forced himself to close his eyes.

He fell asleep beside Bucky, still holding his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a nightmare.
> 
> The next morning, he loses his voice.

Steve woke up to the sounds of violent thrashing.

His eyes flipped open wide and he sat up quickly, his head turning towards Bucky.

Bucky was panting harshly, his metal arm twisted around the bedsheets. He moaned, his back arching off the bed.

“Bucky!” Steve gasped, moving closer to him. He laid his hands on his shoulders and shook. “Bucky, wake up! It's just a dream.”

“No, no, no...” Bucky groaned in his sleep, voice raspy, his head falling from one side to the other.

“Bucky, you gotta wake up.” Steve placed his hands on either side of his cheeks, stroking his temples. “Wake up!”

Bucky was whispering frantically, fervently, desperately in his sleep. His entire body was coated in a sheen of sweat, and his chest was heaving with every impossible breath. His left hand tore at the blanket in his grip, shredding it down the middle.

“I can't- I can't...” He sobbed out, his fist pounding into the bed. “Don't put me back in there-”

Steve felt his breath hitch in his throat.

“Bucky,” He choked out, “No one's gonna put you back in there. I promise. Open your eyes, Buck, please, look at me. I'll die before anyone touches you.”

Bucky's eyes opened suddenly, bloodshot and wide, and a whimper slipped his lips. “St-Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, relieved. “It's me. It's only me.”

“I thought- I saw-”

“I know.” Steve cut him off gently. “I know what it was you saw, Buck.”

“I-I didn't wanna go.” Bucky said in a tiny voice, his eyes terrified.

“Of course you didn't.” Steve murmured, stroking his long hair as his other hand cupped his cheek warmly. “And you'll never go there again.”

“You can't promise that.” Bucky said weakly.

“I can, and I will.” Steve responded firmly.

Steve reached and snatched a blanket and covered Bucky's shuddering body. He rubbed his arms until the shivers grew manageable.

Bucky bowed his head - out of shame or guilt, Steve couldn't tell.

Perhaps both.

Steve took a deep breath as he withdrew from Bucky, who looked up at the sudden loss of contact.

“Why don't we go back to sleep, Buck?” Steve suggested lightly. “I bet you'll feel a lot better in the morning.”

Bucky nodded slowly, and laid down once more. He tucked the pillow closer to his head as he nuzzled into it for better comfort, and his eyes closed.

It took Steve nearly an hour to find sleep. And when it came, he was restless, and tossed and turned all night.

* * *

* * *

 

Steve woke up at around six the next morning. Realizing that the chances of him falling back to sleep were very slim, he decided to get up and make breakfast for he and Bucky.

Bucky was still asleep, sprawled comfortably on Steve's bed. He clutched the blanket close to his chest with his left hand, and his right was resting beside his head.

The sight put a warm smile on Steve's face.

He padded downstairs quietly and wandered into the kitchen. He set to making breakfast – eggs with cheese and salt and pepper, with a side of bacon.

Steve remembered how much Bucky loved bacon.

He wondered if he still did.

As if on cue, Bucky came down the stairs right as Steve was serving up the meal onto two plates. Steve looked up to him with a grin.

“Mornin'.” He greeted him. “Sleep well?”

Bucky gave a small nod.

“Breakfast is ready.” He announced as he set both plates on the table. He then frowned. “If you're feeling well enough for it.”

Bucky only shrugged.

“Don't feel obligated to eat everything if your stomach starts hurting.” Steve added. “You want milk?”

Bucky winced and shook his head.

Steve turned towards him. “Orange juice?”

Bucky nodded.

“Alright.” Steve grabbed the orange juice and two cups before placing them down at the table. “Come on over.”

Bucky obediently walked over and took a seat opposite the one that Steve sat down at. He lifted his fork and began to eat slowly.

“The more vitamin C we can get in you, the better.” Steve told him as he poured out orange juice for the both of them.

Bucky didn't respond.

Steve frowned in concern. “You're being awful quiet, Buck. You feeling okay?”

Bucky gave a shrug.

“Are you,” Steve chose his words delicately. “Are you upset with me?”

He shook his head.

“Oh.” Steve breathed. “Is it your throat? You were sure coughing a lot last night.”

Bucky swallowed with difficulty with another tiny shrug.

“You lost your voice!” Steve dropped his fork, alarmed.

Bucky gave a timid nod.

“Oh, gosh, Buck. That's not good.” Steve said worriedly. “I was really hoping you were starting to feel better.”

Bucky only took a sip of his juice.

“Tea with honey should help.” Steve told him, standing up. “I'll make you some.”

But Bucky grabbed his wrist, narrowed his eyes, and dragged him back into his seat.

Steve blinked. “You... want me to finish eating first?”

Bucky nodded promptly.

Steve chuckled. “Very well.” And he began to eat.

They ate together in comfortable silence. Bucky ate little but seemed to be managing to keep it down, Steve noticed. This was a good improvement.

After the meal was finished, Steve stood up and took both his and Bucky's dishes. He took them over to the sink where he turned on the water and began to scrub them clean. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Bucky slowly laid his head down on the table.

“You doin' alright...?”

A minuscule shrug.

Steve dried his hands off with a towel and walked over to him.

“Headache?” He murmured.

A small nod.

“Want me to try something that might make it go away?” Steve laid both hands on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Bucky didn't move and Steve took it as permission.

Moving very slowly as to not startle Bucky, he touched two fingers to either side of his temples. He began then to move his fingertips in circular motions across his skin, applying a light pressure.

“You did this for me all the time,” Steve spoke softly. “I would get the worst tension headaches, especially as a teenager. I would get all cranky and irritable. But you would always stick by my side, no matter how bad of a patient I was being.”

Bucky was relaxing into his motions, Steve noticed with a warm feeling in his chest, and his body was growing lax against the table.

_'Buck,' Steve whimpered, 'It hurts real bad.'_

_'I know it does.' Bucky said sympathetically, stroking his temples slowly. 'I'm here now, okay? I ain't goin' nowhere.'_

_Steve moaned, curling up. 'How come it hurts so much?'_

_Bucky gave a small smile and whispered, 'It's cause you bumped your head on the way down from Heaven, darlin'.'_

“I noticed your stitches the first night you were here,” Steve began lightly, trailing his fingers down his neck to end the treatment. “And I think your cut is just about fully healed. Why don't we take them out now before we forget?”

Bucky didn't respond, and Steve thought for a brief moment that he may have fallen asleep. But then he sat up warily and looked up to him. He nodded shortly.

Bucky rose uneasily to his feet, using the chair for balance. He then followed Steve into the living room, where he told him, “Go ahead and take a seat.”

Bucky obediently sat down at the edge of the couch that he once called his bed. Steve opened the drawer and withdrew his knife, as well as a pencil and a pad of paper. Bucky stared at him.

“Alright now.” Steve sat down beside him. “All I need is for you to hold still for just a minute. Also, here's this.” He passed him the pencil and paper. “You can write down what you want to tell me.”

Bucky took the paper and pencil.

Steve brought the knife to his skin that had just about fully healed from the deep gash. “So how'd this happen, anyways?”

Steve spoke quietly as he brought the fine blade to the stitches.

Bucky didn't respond.

“Was it another knife? Did you get into a fight?” Steve carefully cut one end of the thin string.

Again, no response.

Steve sighed softly as he tugged the stitches from his skin. “I really wish you trusted me more.”

Bucky flinched.

“I'm not saying that you don't.” Steve corrected himself guiltily. “It's just...”

At last, Bucky reluctantly took the pencil. He wrote on the paper, and pushed it slowly towards Steve.

_I used to tell you everything, didn't I?_

“I mean,” He swallowed. “Yeah. You did.”

Bucky looked away.

“You would tell me things you couldn't even tell your mom.” Steve continued with a gentle smile, careful not to further upset him. “You used to brag about how you skipped class to go smoke cigarettes behind the building. Or how it was your lunch money you were using to buy us sweets. Things like that.”

Steve finished removing the stitches. He began to untie the binding that still remained wrapped around his shoulder. “Let's check on this now.”

Bucky looked down as Steve pulled away unbound the bandage. He gingerly touched the pale red mark that was still left behind from the bullet wound.

“Well, would you look at that.” Steve marveled. “It's just about fully healed.”

Bucky scribbled down one word: _serum_.

“It works wonders for me, as well.” Steve agreed. He then hesitated his eyes fell to the healed wound. “I suppose you won't tell me about this, either.”

A flash of guilt shone through Bucky's eyes and he pried his gaze away.

“Buck?” Steve frowned briefly. “Did you do something bad?”

Bucky reached for the paper slowly. Miserably, he wrote, _I was really hungry_.

“Oh, Buck.” Steve sighed, shaking his head. “It's never good to steal.”

Bucky bit his lip, bowing his head.

Steve touched his hair gingerly. “Why didn't you come find me earlier?”

A tiny shrug.

“Did you not know where to find me?”

Bucky shook his head.

“So you knew where I was, you just didn't come?”

A nod.

“What made you finally decide to show up?” Steve asked.

Bucky didn't move.

“Alright.” Steve said softly. “It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.”

He sheathed the knife and placed it back in the nightstand. Bucky's eyes followed him.

“I'm going to go shopping.” Steve announced as he retrieved his tennis shoes and tugged them on. “I'm going to get you some clothes and food. Any requests?”

Bucky seemed to perk slightly, and he quickly wrote down a single word: _plums_.

“You got it.” Steve winked. “I'll bring plenty.”

Bucky licked his lips.

Steve took his keys and wallet. “Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone.”

Bucky paused for a brief moment, before writing down and showing him: _How can I?_

Steve grinned largely. “You're right. I'm taking all the stupid with me.”

* * *

* * *

 

Clothes shopping was surprisingly difficult. Steve had no idea what kind of clothes Bucky preferred. He decided to stick with basic t-shirts with little to no graphic design. He also remembered to pick up boxer briefs for Bucky, as well as an extra toothbrush for him.

After grabbing some previsions for dinner and several fresh plums, he made his way down to the checkout. Deciding not to be bothered by nosy clerks again, he chose the self-checkout.

Steve briefly considered using his Stark Card to pay for the items, but by the off chance Tony checks recent purchases, he really didn't want him to see what he had bought.

By the time he returned home, he had five grocery bags full of food and clothing. He unlocked the door and swung it open.

“I'm home, Buck,” He called out, closing the door with his foot. “How are-?”

He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening.

_“Bucky!”_

Bucky was on the floor of the living room, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, with his arms tucked behind his head, and he was doing sit-ups.

He was exercising.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?” Steve gasped. “You're gonna make yourself sick!”

Bucky only shrugged and waved his hand nonchalantly.

Steve hurriedly set down the bags on the kitchen counter and walked up to him.

“Cut it out.” He said firmly. “Now.”

Bucky finally stopped, laying there on the ground with his legs drawn up. He was panting far too heavily.

Suddenly, it seemed to hit him. He groaned and curled up against the carpet, holding his middle.

“This was what I was talking about.” Steve said hotly. “And I had specifically told you not to do something stupid.”

Bucky only moaned.

Steve sighed. “You gonna be sick on me?”

A weary shake of Bucky's head.

“Just hurts?”

A miserable nod.

“Well, stay down.” Steve made his way back into the kitchen and fetched a glass of water. He returned to Bucky's side and knelt down beside him, offering it to him. “Try drinking this.”

Bucky reluctantly grasped the cup and took small sips.

“I don't know what you were thinking, Buck, but you can't strain yourself like that.” Steve's voice grew softer. “You're still awfully sick.”

Bucky opened his mouth, winced, and closed it again. Steve reached for his abandoned pad of paper and pencil and handed them both to Bucky.

Bucky wrote slowly.

 _Sorry_.

Steve chuckled. “Don't worry about it. Just don't do it again.”

Bucky nodded.

“Feeling any better?" Steve asked him as Bucky passed him the empty glass.

A second nod.

“Glad to hear it.” Steve said warmly. “I picked you up some plums.”

Bucky sat up eagerly.

“I take it you want one?”

A brisk nod.

Steve retrieved the plumpest one from the grocery bag and passed it to Buck.

“There you are.”

Bucky's teeth immediately sank into the soft skin, his eyes falling closed as he chewed. Steve couldn't help but watch with a fond smile.

“I also bought you some clothes.” Steve added. “I guessed you were around my size since you fit in my sweat pants so well.”

Bucky looked down at his pants and blinked, as if he had only just now realized where they came from. Suddenly he looked up to Steve and his eyes narrowed.

Steve held up both hands. “Yes, I'm sorry, I had to undress you the night you showed up.”

Bucky glared.

“You would have freezed,” Steve protested in explanation. “Your fever had wiped you unconscious, I didn't want to know what else it could do.”

Bucky only rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sweet fruit.

The rest of the plums were gone before dinner.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky snaps - and suffers a fever spike.

Steve groaned, rolling onto his back as he clutched his left shin.

His leg was _throbbing_.

He looked to the right to see the time. It was nearly five in the morning.

He had almost made it through an entire night.

Glancing to his left, he saw Bucky, still sound asleep on the opposite side of his bed. He was lingering on the very edge of the mattress with his synthetic arm dangling down and nearly touching the floor.

“Still a crazy sleeper.” Steve whispered to himself with a chuckle that soon turned to a wince as he tried getting out of bed.

He hobbled out of bed gracelessly, grunting as he tried to evenly disperse his weight. It didn't work so well. So he took to making his way downstairs, wobbling precariously down the steps, but managing to make it into the living room all the same.

He walked in slow circles around the couch in an attempt to stretch out his leg. Gradually, the pain began to disperse, but by the time it had fully disappeared, Steve realized that he was no longer even tired.

He collapsed at the couch with his left leg splayed out in front of him. He rubbed absently at his calf to make sure it had fully gone away. Ultimately, he decided he would try watching some television. He reached for the remote and pressed the power button, but nothing happened.

He smacked his forehead with his hand.

The batteries must have died.

With a massive and defeated sigh, he fumbled around until he reached the handle of the nightstand beside the couch, rummaging for a spare set. When he couldn't feel for them, he moved a little closer and peered inside.

Inside he spotted his Glock .45, Bucky's pencil and paper, a couple spare batteries, tissues, and other small miscellaneous items. He found two AA batteries and popped them into the remote.

He slid the drawer shut and kicked back. He flicked on the TV and began to channel surf.

A sudden thought crossed through his mind and he froze. Inside the drawer contained his pistol...

... but where was his knife?

He scrambled upright and tugged the drawer open again. He sifted through the items, a bit frantically, but he couldn't find it.

It was gone.

“Oh, no.” He whispered weakly, his heart sinking in his chest. “ _Bucky_.”

* * *

* * *

 

It wasn't until around eight or so when Bucky made his way down the stairs and into the living room. Steve, by then, had made the both of them breakfast.

“TV breakfast?” Steve asked him as Bucky laid down on the couch, as if the stairs had knocked all of his energy back out of him.

Bucky just grunted.

“How's your throat feeling?” Steve inquired as he placed Bucky's breakfast on the coffee table in front of him. The plate contained poached eggs on white toast with a buttered biscuit. Twin glasses of orange juice were also set upon the table.

“Better.” Bucky mumbled, looking up to his meal. He licked his lips and sat up to give Steve room on the couch beside him.

“Your voice is back.” Steve noticed warmly. “That's great. Must have just strained it the other night.”

“Maybe.”

Steve hesitated. He needed to ask him about his knife. He didn't trust to leave him alone anymore (not since yesterday), let alone be armed.

Steve forced himself to take a deep breath. Maybe it would be a good thing. Perhaps Bucky felt defenseless without a weapon, and having even just a knife on him would make him feel more at ease.

“Buck...” He began slowly, unsure of how to word himself.

“Mm?” Bucky didn't look up from taking a bite from his biscuit.

“You know that I trust you, right?”

Bucky glimpsed up to him and wiped away the crumbs from his mouth. “... do you?”

“I do.” Steve insisted.

“That sounds like a very poor choice.”

“You haven't given me a reason not to.”

Bucky didn't respond.

“Have you... seen my knife?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“No.”

Steve glanced over to him to see if he could detect any sign of a lie.

But he couldn't.

Bucky started on his toast.

“It's missing.” Steve continued, forcing his voice to remain casual as he reached for his fork and began to cut into his eggs. The gooey middle began to ooze into his toast.

“Well, where's the last place you had it?”

“I used it to cut your stitches, remember?”

“You sure it didn't fall in the couch or somethin'?”

“I distinctly remember putting it back.” Steve insisted.

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, maybe you used it for something else and you forgot to put it back.” He then took his glass of orange juice with his left hand.

“I don't think-”

There was a knock at the door.

Bucky jumped, the glass in his hand shattering abruptly. He didn't even look down - his eyes were trained upon the door.

“Who's that?” He growled.

“Calm down, Buck.” Steve stood up and brushed a hand across his shoulder. “It's probably just the mailman. Why don't you hang out in the kitchen for a minute?”

Bucky obeyed, hurrying out of the room.

Once he was sure he was out of sight, Steve opened the front door.

It was Sam.

“Sorry for dropping by without warning,” Sam immediately apologized with a sheepish grin on his face. “I just wanted to check on the two of you.”

Steve gave a sigh of relief. “Not a problem. Come on in.”

Sam removed his shoes and followed Steve into the living room.

“Buck?” Steve called out, “It's just Sam. Why don't you come out?”

There was no answer.

“Sorry,” Steve told Sam. “Er- just give me a second.”

He ducked off into the kitchen, frowning in concern when he spotted Bucky sitting on top of the kitchen counter, staring down at the floor.

“Hey,” Steve spoke lightly. “You feelin' alright?”

“I'm fine.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Breakfast biting you back?”

He shook his head.

“That's good.” Steve smiled. “Why don't you come say hi to Sam for me?”

Bucky's lip curled.

“Just for a minute. He came by to check on you,” He added. “You know, he's the one who helped me keep an eye on you while you were out.”

“So he's seen me at my weakest.” He muttered.

“So have I.” Steve shrugged. “And I don't think of you any differently.”

“You're different.”

“Why's that?”

“You're...” he heaved a long sigh. “... fine. I'll go out there. But only for a minute.”

“That's all I need.” Steve grinned, offering him a hand. “Come on down from there.”

Bucky ignored his hand and slid off the counter. He brushed his hair from his face before following Steve into the living room.

Sam greeted him as he walked in. “Hey there. You're sure looking a lot better.”

Bucky didn't say anything.

“Um, yeah. He lost his voice yesterday.” Steve forced a laugh. “So excuse him if he's a bit quiet.”

“Hey man, won't take it personally.” Sam nodded to the coffee table, where two sets of breakfast still remained. “Awesome to see that you're eating.”

“He did great last night,” Steve agreed. “He must have had – gosh, Buck, how many plums?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

The room grew silent.

Bucky cleared his throat.

Sam glanced to his watch.

Steve gave a chipper whistle.

“So,” Sam began slowly.

“I'm gonna take a quick shower.” Steve said suddenly, bringing his hands together. “Bucky, why don't you finish your breakfast before it gets cold?"

“Okay.”

Steve turned on his heel and started up the stairs.

Sam's chuckle followed him. “Still takin' orders, huh? Guess old habits die hard for the soldier.”

Steve froze in his tracks.

Then he heard Bucky's voice, a dark and ghostly, “... Say that again.”

“What? That old habits die hard? Well, I mean, I'd only imagine, especially after Hydra-”

Steve turned around and began to race down the stairs, but he didn't move nearly fast enough.

A loud _crash_ rang through the living room, sending a tremor through the entire house.

Steve ran into the living room, eyes wide in shock. With a flash of steel, Bucky had lunged at Sam, pinned him straight to the ground and managed to flip over the coffee table within a blink of an eye. In right hand he was grabbing onto his shoulder, and in his left he was pressing a knife – _Steve's knife_ – against his throat.

“Say that one more time.” He spat, the edge of the knife digging into Sam's neck. “I dare you.”

“Bucky!” Steve roared. “Stand the hell down!”

Bucky's gaze whipped over to Steve, who stumbled slightly backwards at the sight of his eyes. They were dark, narrow, dangerous – lethal.

“Stay out of this.” Bucky snarled.

“Put it down.” Steve ordered him, raising hands in surrender. “No one's going to hurt you.”

Steve took a step closer, but Bucky only pressed the knife further into Sam's skin. Sam flinched, his hesitant eyes meeting Steve's.

“Bucky, look at him.” Steve commanded. “He's not fighting you. Just take a breath, stand up, and we'll sort through this.”

“He's not fighting me because I have the upper hand and he knows it.” Bucky growled.

“Sam?” Steve's gaze fell to the man in Bucky's grasp. “... go ahead.”

Before Bucky could so much as open his mouth, Sam swung a fist and landed a blow right at Bucky's jaw.

Bucky fell back, stunned, and dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor.

Steve dove for Bucky, grabbing onto his forearms and ripping him away from Sam. Bucky kicked and writhed, fists swinging in every direction he could manage.

“ _Let me go!_ ” Bucky screamed.

“You need to calm down.” Steve hissed in his ear as he dragged him onto his knees. “ _Now_.”

Bucky seethed, his hard eyes meeting Sam's. Sam was still on the ground, rubbing his throat with a wince on his face.

“Is this some kind of _joke_ to you? Do you think I liked it? Do you think I _enjoyed_ it? Being locked up in the freezing cold until called for? Do hear those goddamn words over and over-” he yelled, “-and _over_ again? To be chained and muzzled, like- like some kind of animal?” He panted heavily, his body shuddering with overexertion. “Maybe I should send you to them. Turn you into the next- _fucking- Winter- Soldier_.”

“Buck, you can't be doin' this.” Steve struggled out, his grip on him tightening. “You're too sick, you're gonna wear yourself out.”

Sam rose unsteadily to his feet, groaning in pain. “James, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

“Don't,” Bucky's eyes narrowed and he snarled, “call me _James!_ ”

Sam corrected himself rapidly, “Bucky. Look, man. I'm sorry I offended you. I only meant that-”

“-I know what you _meant_ -”

“Listen to him, Buck.” Steve commanded him strictly.

Bucky scoffed but fell silent.

Sam tried again, “I didn't mean to bring up any past memories. I only meant that taking orders from Cap here still left an imprint. And there's nothing wrong with that.”

“Sam used to be a soldier, too.” Steve told Bucky quietly.

“Now I'm not saying anything about- about the Winter Soldier.” Sam swallowed. “Because that's your business, man, I'm not going anywhere near that.”

“You brought up Hydra.” Bucky said weakly.

“Steve told me you were captured during the war.” Sam explained slowly. “It would make sense that you would follow Rogers into danger, especially since he rescued from them.”

Bucky was trembling. Steve glanced down at him to see his skittish eyes traveling from left to right. All color had drained from his face.

“You see now?” Steve murmured, crouching down beside him. He left one hand around Bucky's human arm. “He wasn't trying to insult you.”

“And I'm sorry I called you James,” Sam added hesitantly, as if unsure whether or not to revisit the subject. “That just slipped out.”

Bucky's head had bowed completely, and Steve suddenly realized that he was slumped over entirely, and that his grip was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Bucky...?” Steve turned him slightly in his arms, and Bucky's head fell to one side.

“Oh, fuck.” Sam's eyes widened briefly. “Cap-”

A low moan fell from Bucky's lips. Alarmed, Steve grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him to face him. Bucky's eyes were closed, his lips parted ever so slightly. His breath was coming in far too harsh.

Steve laid a hand on his brow, and looked up to Sam frantically.

“He's burning up.” He whispered.

“Let me feel.” Sam crossed the room and touched the back of his wrist against Bucky's forehead briefly. His eyes widened.

“Holy shit." He said hoarsely.

“What's going on?” Steve demanded, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. “He was just fine five minutes ago!”

“We overstrained him.” Sam grimaced. “And it's my fault.”

“What do we do?” Steve asked urgently, holding Bucky close to his chest. “What does he need?”

“What he needs is a fucking hospital.” Sam muttered. “But we're pretty limited in that department. Get him into the bath.”

“T-the bath?”

“And make it cold. We _need_ to lower his body temperature. I'd guess it's around one-oh-five right around now.”

Steve wasted no more time. He hurried up the stairs, cradling Bucky close to him. Bucky was beginning to pant, sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“Stay with me, Buck.” Steve ordered lowly. “Don't you dare fall asleep on me now.”

Bucky groaned, his arms coming weakly to clutch at Steve's shirt.

Sam followed Steve up into the upstairs bathroom. He cranked the bathtub faucet on and plugged the drain.

Steve set to getting Bucky out of his pants. His spine was slick with sweat.

“Talk to me, Bucky, tell me you're not asleep.” Steve urged as he tossed the sweatpants aside. He gingerly set him onto the cool tile floor, and Bucky curled up slowly.

“Say something.” Steve cupped his warm face, his thumb stroking over his cheekbone.

“Hurts.” Bucky struggled out, eyes glazed over with pain.

“I know it does.” Steve whispered to him, running his free hand through his tangled hair. “You're doin' so well, Buck. Tell me something else now.”

“I'm- I-I'm sorry,” He choked out, his hands curling into fists. “Sam...”

From his spot at the edge of the bathtub, Sam looked up to him. “Don't worry about it. You had every reason to do what you did back there.”

“I-I wasn't gonna- gonna hurt you...” Bucky gasped out in short agonized breaths. “I-I just...”

“It's alright.” Steve interrupted him gently. “He's not angry. Neither of us are.”

Bucky's eyes fell closed slowly.

“Buck? Hey.” Steve lifted him into his arms, pushing the hair back from his hot brow. “Stay with me.”

Bucky's head tipped to one side, and Steve could feel his hard muscles beneath his touch begin to go lax.

“Sam,” Steve started, panicked.

“Bath is ready.” He announced, standing up to make way for Steve, who fervently hurried his way over with Bucky in his arms. Very carefully, Steve eased him into the bathtub.

Bucky snapped back into awareness as Steve withdrew, his eyes flying open in his shock. He twisted and gasped out, “I-it's cold-!”

“Stay down.” Steve sat at the edge of the porcelain. “Just relax, okay?”

“It's f-freezing!” Bucky cried out, his arms winding around his chest.

Steve dipped a hand into the water. It was chilly, but not icy.

But with that fever...

“Steve,” Bucky sobbed, his hands grabbing for his shirt. “G-get me out, p-please.”

“I can't do that.” Steve whispered as he pried his fingers away from him. “We need to lower that temperature of yours.”

“You said, you _said_ -” Bucky brought his knees to his chest and wound his arms around them heartbrokenly. “Y-you said you wouldn't put me back in there!”

“Buck...” Steve whispered brokenly. “Bucky, this isn't the cyro.”

He grasped either side of his flushed face, directing his fevered gaze to him. “Listen to me. You're not going back into there. I promised, remember?”

The paralyzed terror didn't leave Bucky's eyes. He groaned and buried his head against his knees.

“Sam,” Steve spoke up, looking up at him. “What happens when a fever gets too high?”

Sam glanced to Bucky. “Confusion.”

“We seemed to reach that territory. What else?”

“Loss of consciousness-”

“Been there done that, Sam.” Steve growled. “I need to know the endgame.”

“Brain damage.” Sam said thickly.

“The serum should stop that from happening.” Steve turned back to Bucky and placed a hand behind his neck. His skin was on fire.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a loud knocking at the door.

“I got it.” Sam left the room.

Steve began to slowly massage Bucky's left shoulder, his fingers delving into the seam between flesh and metal.

“Still with me?” Steve spoke quietly.

“Yeah.” Bucky whispered shakily.

Steve's hand trailed up from his shoulder into his hairline, and it gave him an idea.

“Why don't... I brush your hair for you?” Steve asked softly, stroking the tangles with his fingertips. “It'd feel real nice, and it'll help you relax. Would you like that?”

Bucky gave a small, uncertain nod.

“I'll be right back.” Steve stood up and fetched the hairbrush from the drawer. He returned back to his side.

Bucky tried to sit up, but his hands gave out under the slippery surface of the tub.

“Careful there.” Steve advised as he sat down beside him on the edge of the bathtub. “Just sit still.”

Bucky obeyed, and Steve set to beginning to brush out the worst of his mangled hair. He worked slowly but diligently, making his motions as featherlike as he could. He ran his hand through his hair with each pass of the brush. When he found a tangle, he would grip just above it and begin working the brush at the bottom of the mass of hair, working his way up until it dispersed.

“When we were teens,” Steve began as he worked to untwine a rather large knot about half the size of his fist, “you'd always keep a comb in your back pocket. I never really understood why, though. It always looked the same after you ran through it a couple times.”

Bucky stared forward, unresponsive.

“Sometimes, after you showered, you'd let me comb it for you. I could never make it look as good as when you did it,” Steve confessed, “but you never seemed to mind. Then you'd slick it up with that gel you were always buying. It was awful stuff, it was like glue, but it was cheap and you loved it.”

The knot was free now, and Steve moved on to the back of his head. He began to brush gently. “So, in a way, I've sort of missed this.”

Steve glanced to Bucky's face, and his breath was nearly taken away from him at that moment. Bucky was watching the marble wall in front of him, his arms still tucked securely around his knees, with twin tears falling from his eyes. He blinked then, startled, and hastily rubbed them away.

Steve's gaze softened. “It's okay to cry, Bucky.” He punctuated himself with a pass of the brush through his hair. “'Don't be afraid of feeling sad, because it shows you how to be happy.' That's what you told me one time.”

Bucky's hair was much smoother by the time Steve finished twisting all of the mangles free. He continued to brush his hair, feeling the locks slip between his fingers. The strands were much more pliant and soft. They still held a certain coarseness to them, as they haven't been washed recently, but Steve could tell that Bucky felt better just having his hair brushed out.

At last, Steve set the brush aside. He rest his hand on Bucky's brow to see that his fever had gone down considerably – but was still quite high.

“Let's get you to bed.” Steve said warmly. “You ready?”

Bucky gripped the edge of the bathtub and stood on wobbly legs. Steve rose to his feet and looped his arm around his shoulders, helping him step out. Steve then reached for a towel hanging from the rack. He draped it over Bucky's hair before ordering, “Go ahead and sit down at the toilet. I'll dry you off.”

Bucky sat down with his head bowed, and Steve began to lightly towel-dry his hair. He moved slowly as to not make his head ache any further. When Bucky's hair was mostly dry, he slid the towel down and tucked it around his shoulders. He then gently patted his face dry before moving downwards more. He dried off his shoulders, arms, chest, and finally, his legs.

“How are you feelin', Buck?” He asked quietly. “Any better?”

An unsure nod.

Sam came into the bathroom moments later. He glanced down to Bucky before asking Steve, “How's he doin'?”

“Better.” Steve told him. “Who was at the door?”

Sam shrugged. “Neighbor. Said he heard some commotion and he wanted to make sure you were alright. Took me forever to convince him you were still alive.”

“Like I need more neighbors spying on me.” Steve grunted, lifting Bucky in his arms. Bucky's head leaned against his chest tiredly, his eyes closing. “This is exactly the reason I left my apartment.”

“Just being a good samaritan, I'd imagine. Need any help?”

Steve shook his head. “I've got it from here, Sam.”

Steve carried Bucky to his bedroom where he carefully laid him upon his bed. He then searched through his dresser to find a different pair of sweats. He then fetched a shirt that he had bought just the other day. He handed them to Bucky, who sat up warily and began to dress.

“I'm going to go get you something to drink.” Steve told him.

He turned, but was suddenly stopped.

Bucky had reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Steve paused and turned.

Bucky's head was bowed, his eyes staring at the floor, but his metal hand was wrapped firmly around his.

Steve gave a soft smile and sat down beside him. He tucked one arm around his shoulder lightly, and slowly, Bucky leaned against him. Cautiously, Steve pulled him closer and laid down upon the bed. Bucky followed him, closing his eyes.

They were both asleep within minutes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve both receives and remembers.

Steve spent the next day cleaning the house.

Bucky kept him company best he could as he lay stretched out on the sofa with a damp towel over his forehead.

Steve was kneeling on the floor with a trash bag in one hand and using the other hand to pick up the shards of glass that littered about half the room.

Soft jazz from the 40s played from Steve's Blu-Tooth setup as he worked. After cleaning up the glass, he shoveled out the remainders of the broken coffee table and scrubbed the orange juice stain from the carpet.

“Do you need help?” Bucky asked him softly at one point while Steve was running the vacuum over the carpet to rid it of the tiny shards of glass. His face was haggard and drawn tight with pain.

Steve smiled warmly. “I've got this. Just take it easy.”

Bucky's eyes closed.

_'Aw, come on, Stevie, you're gonna get motion sick again if you keep doin' that.'_

_Steve looked up from pressing his nose against the glass window of the train. He grinned sheepishly. 'Sorry.'_

_'Don't apologize to me, apologize to your poor stomach.' Bucky rolled his eyes and patted the seat beside him. 'C'mere.'_

_Steve obediently sat down beside him. Bucky's arm looped around his shoulders._

_The train car was empty save for the two of them, and for that, Steve was grateful._

_'How's it feelin', by the way?' Bucky murmured, using his other hand and laying it upon Steve's middle._

_'Better.' Steve admitted. 'A lot better.'_

_'Sorry for makin' you take that ride.' Bucky continued with a weak laugh. 'Didn't really expect you to toss your cookies.'_

_Steve rolled his eyes. 'You'll make it up to me one day.'_

_'I have no doubt about that.'_

_Steve leaned against him, closing his eyes contentedly as Bucky began to gently massage his belly. He nearly purred, curling up against his chest._

Steve put the vacuum away. When he returned, Bucky was sitting upright, holding his head with the rag in his lap.

“Hey,” Steve spoke softly, settling a hand on his shoulder. “How we doin'?”

Bucky silently offered him the cloth. Steve took it and felt it. It had become fairly dry.

“I'll be right back.” He promised him and he turned and walked into the kitchen. He ran the rag under the sink for several moments before wringing it out and returning.

Steve sat down beside him and began to carefully dab his hot forehead. He slowly swiped it down his temples to his cheeks, and when Bucky's head bowed ever so slightly, he ran it behind his neck gently.

“I know this song.”

Bucky's voice was raspy and trembling. He swallowed with difficulty and tried again, “It's... I know it.”

“I'll bet you do.” Steve agreed. “Casablanca. Gosh, we must have seen it a dozen times in theatres.”

Bucky glanced away.

Steve hummed along with the song as he tucked back stray locks of Bucky's hair behind his ear. He then ran the cloth over the exposed skin.

Suddenly, Bucky tensed. Steve could feel as his muscles beneath his hands went taut. Alarmed, Steve immediately stopped. He pulled away to meet him eye-to-eye worriedly.

“What is it?” He asked, setting the cloth down. “Buck...?”

Bucky covered his mouth with his hands, his wide eyes staring into nothing. Steve realized then that he was whispering to himself, frantically, the same word over and over again.

“Casablanca, Casablanca, Casablanca...” He was chanting hoarsely.

“Buck, what's going on?” Steve said urgently, gripping both of his arms. “I need you to snap out of it. Talk to me.”

“No, no, no...” He groaned, burying his head in his hands. “That can't be right... it _can't_ be...”

“Okay, Buck? I'm gonna need you to calm down for me.” Steve commanded. “Take a deep breath. Nice and slow, okay?”

For several moments, Bucky did nothing, and Steve was concerned that he couldn't hear him. But after a short while, Bucky took a breath. He swallowed hard as he released it.

“Perfect.” Steve praised him. “Go ahead and do it again.”

Bucky's eyes closed as he obeyed. He took a slow breath, letting it go through his mouth. Steve could feel him relaxing beneath his hands.

“Okay.” Steve said softly. “Now, tell me what you saw.”

“I-I saw...” Bucky began with a trembling voice. “I...”

“Is it something bad?” Steve asked him worriedly. “Do you not want to talk about it?”

Bucky shook his head fervently. “I-I gotta know.” His broken gaze met Steve's desperately. “Just- listen, okay?”

“I'm listening.” Steve promised him.

“We took...” Bucky swallowed. “We took a shortcut to the theatre.”

“The back alley.” Steve recalled, nodding. “I remember.”

“It was dark.” Bucky forced himself to take another deep breath. “No one could see us.”

“There weren't any lights.” Steve agreed. He squeezed his arms lightly. “You're doin' perfect. Now, what happened in that alley?”

“You reached... a-and... you...” Bucky raised his left hand to his gaze. His metal fingers curled, and he watched the plates slide against each other.

“What was I reaching for?”

Bucky's eyes met his. “Me.”

Steve's breath left him in a rush. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest.

“You took... my hand.” Bucky turned his attention back to his synthetic hand, turning it over. “And you held it tight.” He glanced to him. “That happened, didn't it?”

He couldn't lie.

He couldn't back down now.

Steve swallowed hard and give a small nod. “Y-yeah, Buck.”

“I... liked it.” He curled his hand into a fist gently. “I brought your hand to my lips and... and...”

“You kissed my fingers.” Steve finished softly.

“And then... after the movie, we waited.” Bucky set his hand down, staring at Steve's. “Until everyone left.”

Steve swallowed.

“There weren't many people there. But we wanted to be alone.” His voice grew quieter. “Just the two of us, alone in the dark.”

“Yeah.” Steve whispered.

“I see... I see...” Bucky struggled faintly as he tried to remember.

“What do you see?” Steve asked him softly.

“... you and me.” Bucky looked up to him. Their gaze held.

“And,” Steve began hesitantly, “what are we doing?”

Bucky turned towards him, his fevered gaze restless. He moved slowly, either out of hesitation or uncertainty, and his arms raised and slowly tucked behind around Steve's neck.

Steve froze, his eyes widening.

“Something,” he breathed, “a bit like...”

His eyes met Steve's and he leaned a little closer until their foreheads were touching. Steve could feel the heat from Bucky's skin against his own, so warm, so... inviting.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, barely audible to his own ears. “Do you know... what this means?”

“This means...” Bucky bit his lip in thought. “... us.”

“That's right.” Steve spoke softly.

Bucky's lashes fluttered closed. Steve's hand rose and touched Bucky's cheek, feeling the rough stubble that adorned his jaw.

“I...” Bucky breathed. “W-what do we do now...?”

“This.” Steve's head titled ever so slightly as his eyes slid closed.

Slowly, so slowly, he touched his lips to Bucky's in a soft, chaste kiss. Bucky's chapped lips were rough against Steve's, a stark contrast. Steve raised his free hand to behind Bucky's hair, his fingertips massaging into his scalp. He felt as Bucky gradually relaxed beneath him, his body leaning against Steve's lightly.

Steve reluctantly pulled away, just far enough to touch his brow to Bucky's. He felt a grin tug at his lips.

Bucky's eyes opened hesitantly, cheeks flushed and pupils wide.

“I've missed this,” Steve whispered, his voice wrought. “So much.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Bucky asked in a murmur. “Why did you wait?”

“I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want...” Steve mumbled, glancing away. “... you to leave me.”

“I wouldn't have left...”

“I had just gotten you back.” Steve said weakly. “I couldn't risk losing you again.”

Bucky nodded, but his eyes fell closed and his head bowed.

“You okay...?” Steve asked him, running his hand through his hair.

“I'm... tired.”

“Why don't you get some rest?” Steve suggested lightly, beginning to withdraw his hands.

Bucky nodded silently before rising to his feet unsteadily.

Steve stood up and tucked an arm around his waist. “You got that?”

A brief nod. “I'm fine.”

They walked together up the stairs, Steve moving slowly enough for Bucky to keep up with. When they reached the bedroom, Steve ushered him gently to bed.

Bucky laid down, exhaustion evident in his hindered movements. Steve sat down upon the bed beside him, watching as Bucky's hooded eyes struggled to meet his gaze.

“Sleep, Buck.” Steve murmured. “I'll be right here if you need anything.”

Bucky nodded drowsily. He reached slowly, hesitantly, his human hand touching Steve's cheek. A small smile hinted at Steve's lips as he turned and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. Bucky's eyes slid closed and he have a soft sigh.

His voice was so very soft, so soft that Steve almost misplaced it as a rustle of sheets.

“I... loved you.” Bucky murmured, his hand coming down and resting on his middle.

“Yeah.” Steve whispered, stroking the bangs from his forehead. “I loved you, too. So much.”

A tiny smile graced Bucky's pale lips before his head tipped to one side, and his breathing became deeper and steadier. He had fallen asleep.

Steve leaned down and touched a lingering kiss to his hot brow.

“I'll be here when you wake up.”

* * *

* * *

 

_Steve frowned to himself as he glanced over to Bucky sitting at his desk to his left._

_Something was wrong with him today._

_That much was clear._

_His face was rid of any color, his eyes were nervous, and he kept biting his lip. His hands kept clenching and unclenching, his fingers flexing. His right foot was tapping anxiously._

_“Bucky,” Steve ventured when the teacher wasn't paying attention, “What's wrong?”_

_Bucky nearly jumped when addressed, and his head whipped over to Steve. “W-what?”_

_“You're shaking like crazy.” Steve insisted. “And you haven't managed to sit still for more than two seconds.”_

_“Oh. Um.” He licked his lips before ducking a quick look to the front of the classroom. “I'm okay.”_

_“Don't lie to me.” Steve huffed, leaning back in his seat. “What are you so nervous about? The test isn't until Friday, you still have three more days to study this-”_

_“It's not that.” Bucky swallowed hard._

_“Write it down.” Steve instructed. “And then pass it to me.”_

_“I,” Bucky began weakly, “I can't.”_

_Steve twisted his lips in thought. He opened his mouth, but Bucky managed to beat him to it._

_“I... I need to talk to you after school.” He said weakly. “Okay?”_

_“Sure.” Steve nodded, a bit relieved. “Then will you tell me what's bugging you?”_

_Bucky nodded hesitantly, his skittish gaze lowering._

_Class couldn't go by fast enough. When the teacher finally dismissed them, Bucky grabbed for his bag. “Come on, Steve.”_

_“I'm coming, I'm coming.” He hurriedly put his things away._

_They left the classroom and entered the hallway. Steve struggled to keep up with Bucky as he slipped in between other students. Luckily, he was taller than most of them. He stumbled as he was pushed aside by some of the bigger boys._

_“Bucky, wait for me!” He called out desperately. “Wait up!”_

_Bucky glanced over his shoulder before reaching out and grabbing for Steve's wrist. “Come on.”_

_Steve's eyes widened briefly at the contact. He nodded hastily. “O-okay.”_

_Bucky's hand was warm to the touch. His deft fingers were curled around his wrist, a delicate but firm grasp. He bit his lip._

_“Where are we going?” Steve protested as Bucky led him out the door of the school._

_“Somewhere no one will hear.” Bucky growled._

_They were heading to the back of the school, Steve realized._

_“Buck, let's just go to my house. My ma won't be home, you can say whatever you wanna say there.”_

_“Too far.” Bucky grunted._

_He turned a final corner and released his wrist. Steve's skin burned at the loss._

_Steve looked up to him, eyes widening when he saw that Bucky was pacing in rapid circles. One hand was wringing through his hair while the other was resting at his side. He was muttering to himself, his narrow eyes staring into the ground._

_“Buck?” Steve began softly. “What's going on?”_

_“I need-” He cut himself off with a groan. He stopped in his tracks, rubbing his face with his hands. “I need to tell you something.”_

_“I'm here.” Steve told him._

_“I know, I just-” He rubbed his hands together nervously, and he took in a deep forced breath. “Christ. I'm gonna throw up.”_

_“Bucky,” Steve began slowly, “I think you're having a panic attack.”_

_“I'm not.” He said desperately. “I'm not. I'm not.”_

_“Just take some deep breaths. Sit down.”_

_But Bucky only started pacing again._

_He was terrified, Steve realized with a hard swallow. Of what, he had no idea._

_“It can't be that bad,” he tried. “You know I'll still be your friend, no matter what you say.”_

_Bucky gave a humorless, dark chuckle. “You say that now.”_

_“And I'll say it later.” Steve said firmly._

_“You won't.” Bucky moaned, gripping his hair with both hands. “You won't, you won't, you'll hate me-”_

_“I could never hate you.” Steve glared. “Jesus Christ, Buck, just- sit down for a minute, okay?”_

_Bucky glanced up to him hesitantly._

_“Sit down.” Steve repeated himself, pointing to the spot on the floor beside him._

_This time, Bucky obeyed._

_He sat down next to him, his wrists draped over his drawn knees. He stared off into nothing._

_Steve crouched down beside him. He spoke quietly, “You might not care, but I've seen the changes in you. You've been drinking more. Smoking more.”_

_“Of course I care.” Bucky mumbled, bowing his head. “I care about you, Stevie.”_

_“Then tell me what's wrong.” Steve begged him. “So I can help you.”_

_“No one can help me.” He said miserably._

_“I can.” Steve countered. “I don't care what it is. I'm going to help you in whatever way I can.”_

_Bucky jerked his head to face him, his eyes suddenly pleading. “Aren't we-? Wouldn't we-?” He groaned and shook his head._

_“Wouldn't we what?” Steve urged him._

_Bucky rose to his feet. Surprised, Steve looked up at him. “Buck?”_

_“Wouldn't we...?” He let loose a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was pinched. “Wouldn't we be so great together?”_

_“Yeah.” Steve stood up and nodded. “Of course. We're great together, Buck, everyone says so. We've been friends since ever.”_

_Bucky took a deep breath and pointed at him suddenly. “There's nothing wrong with me.” His voice was broken, desperate. “I don't need... I don't need_ help _.”_

_“I know that. No one thinks that you do.”_

_“You will. You will, my ma will-” his eyes widened suddenly. “Oh my god,” he moaned, “my_ ma _...”_

_“Your ma loves you, Buck, there's no way she'll let anything bad happen to you.” Steve argued, crossing his arms._

_"She'd never look at me ever again.” Bucky whimpered._

_“You need to start making sense.” Steve shook his head. “I can't think of any reason at all that your mom – or me, for that matter – would start hating you.”_

_“I can.” He muttered._

_“Tell me what's wrong,” Steve pleaded. “I'm beggin' you, Buck. I won't judge you or nothin'.”_

_“You won't... run away?” Bucky asked softly._

_Steve shook his head vigorously. “Won't happen.”_

_“You won't hate me?” There was a slight hitch in Bucky's voice._

_“Never.”_

_Bucky took a hesitant step closer. “You promise?”_

_“I swear it.”_

_Bucky's voice quivered. “'Cause I don't know what I'll do if you leave me.”_

_Steve moved closer and rest his hand on his shoulder. “You don't have to worry about that.” He said firmly._

_Bucky nervously laid his hand on Steve's shoulder, mirroring his movement. “You're positive?”_

_“I've never been more sure of anything in my life.” He said simply._

_“Because you won't like it-”_

_“-James Barnes, if you don't tell me this damn instant-”_

_And then Bucky moved._

_Even closer._

_Steve didn't move._

_He didn't flinch back._

_Bucky leaned in, so slowly, his eyes closing, leaning in closer, until-_

Steve's eyes flipped open.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve experiments with the intimacy that Bucky remembers.

“Tell me if this hurts, okay?”

Very carefully, Steve placed the oil-doused rag against the irritated patch of Bucky's skin. He gave no indication of pain, but only glanced down to watch him.

“Really scared the hell out of me when I first saw this.” Steve admitted as he slowly rubbed the fabric against the raw, red skin.

Steve was kneeling in front of Bucky, who was sitting on the couch, holding the hem of his shirt up as Steve worked.

“Sorry.” Bucky said quietly.

“No need to apologize.” Steve grinned.

Bucky's hand curled into a fist, clutching onto the plush of the couch beneath his grip. Steve glimpsed up, slowing his movements. “You good?”

“I'm good.” But his voice was too tight.

“Buck,” Steve began worriedly. “tell me if it hurts. Your skin here is awfully worn out, it's normal if it stings-”

“I'm fine.” He said curtly. “Just... keep going.”

Steve reluctantly did as he was told, but he kept his movements more gentle and slow. “I want you to know that it's okay to feel bad. To feel hurt, or sick.”

“I know.”

“Do you really?” Steve looked up to him, concerned. He stopped his motions, this time completely.

“Yes.” Bucky was pleading now. “Just- keep going.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve gave in again. He moved as gingerly as he possibly could. He gently swiped away a stray dribble of the oil that ran down his chest with his index finger.

Once the oil was evenly dispersed over his skin, he looked up at Bucky just to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable. Bucky's eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly. He was breathing steadily, slow deep breaths, and it made Steve smile.

He cracked an eye open when Steve finished. “You're done?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “That's all. That wasn't so bad, was it?”

Bucky hesitantly reached for him and wrapped his fingers around his wrist.

“What is it?” Steve asked him curiously.

Bucky swallowed and pulled Steve's hand closer to him, until his fingertips barely brushed his skin. “... keep going."

“What do you mean?” Steve frowned a little. “I'm all done.”

Bucky's eyes were begging. “Keep going?”

_Oh..._

Steve's expression softened. “Sure, Buck.” He said gently.

He raised the cloth once more and pressed it against his skin. He rubbed the rag against his skin, moving in slow circles. Bucky released a loose sigh and his eyes slid closed. Steve set the cloth aside, but before Bucky had the chance to protest, he began to trace soft patterns against his bare skin with his fingertips. Bucky shivered and moved a little closer.

Steve could feel the hard ridges of muscle beneath his fingers. He skimmed down to the long scar at his rib cage, following the pale tissue there with the tip of his finger. He leaned forward slowly, closing his eyes before placing a gentle kiss there. Bucky's head tipped back and Steve could feel the tiny shudder that ran up his body.

He's gone over seventy years without so much as a loving touch, Steve realized as he glided both hands up his body. He's felt nothing but pain and agony and suffering since the day Steve thought he lost him.

Bucky's hand that he was using to hold up his shirt was trembling ever so slightly. Steve splayed his hands out upon his back and slid upwards, pushing his shirt past his shoulders and over his head. Bucky shivered at the sudden exposure, hesitant eyes meeting Steve's.

Steve wound his arms around him, his fingers curling against his back. He nuzzled into his chest, leaving kisses as he went. Bucky's left hand clenched into Steve's hair, shivering beneath his touches.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered.

“I'm here, Buck.” Steve murmured against his warm skin.

“I... I wa-” he broke off with a swallow. “I-I...”

Steve looked up to him. “What do you want?”

Bucky fidgeted nervously. “... never mind.”

“Tell me.” Steve requested, rubbing his hands up and down his spine until Bucky was arching in his arms, striving for more.

“Do you want this?” Steve pulled one hand away and laid one hand upon his thigh gently. He moved his hand closer to between his legs, achingly slow. Bucky grabbed his hand quickly.

“No?” Steve asked, tilting his head.

“No...?” He tried weakly, but the end of the word lifted into a question.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” Steve asked softly. His fingertips massaged into his leg, delving into the muscles there.

Bucky gulped. “Yes?”

“I won't touch you if you don't want me to.” Steve said worriedly. “I just want to help you feel good.”

“I don't understand.” Bucky said softly.

“If I were to touch you here,” Steve began, his fingers skimming across the zipper of Bucky's jeans. Bucky tensed, but Steve continued, “it would feel real nice.”

“I'm not allowed to do that.” Bucky shook his head.

Steve frowned briefly. “Who said that? Who said you're not allowed?”

“The colonel. The senator. Rumlow. Um... e-everyone.”

“You're not with them anymore.” Steve said firmly. “You're with me. And you're allowed.”

“I'm not.” Bucky said softly.

“You are.”

“I can't-” Bucky protested.

“Shh...” Steve hushed him softly, carding his hands through his hair. “Shh, shh... it's okay. Everything's okay, Buck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you into something you didn't want to do.”

Bucky released a relieved sigh, his head tipping side to side ever so slightly with Steve's motions. Steve's fingernails rolled against his scalp lovingly as he pressed light kisses to his temples.

Suddenly, Bucky gave a tiny gasp, his body lurching forward.

Steve immediately pulled away. “Bucky? What's wrong?”

A small sob slipped from him, his hands clenching. His eyes scrunched shut, the corner of his lip curling in pain.

“Bucky? Talk to me. What's going on?” Steve urged him.

“S-” He hissed, leaning forward. “S-stomach...”

He pressed his left hand hard against his middle, a whimper falling from his lips. “S-Steve.”

“I've got you.” Steve promised, gently pulling his hand away from his belly. “Don't press so hard. You're only gonna make it worse.”

“It hurts.” He moaned.

“I know it does.” Steve sat down beside him and opened his arms. “Come here. Let me try something.”

Bucky wearily leaned back against Steve's chest. Steve tucked his arms around him and laid one hand upon his stomach. Bucky tensed and curled instinctively, but Steve shushed him.

“Just relax.” He murmured. “Go ahead and lean against me some more.”

Bucky didn't move, but regardless Steve began to rub his stomach in slow, light circles. Bucky stiffened and snatched his wrist.

“It's okay.” Steve ventured to kiss his ear softly. He felt a hitch in Bucky's breath. “This'll make it feel better. But you have to calm down.”

Bucky's voice trembled. “D-do that again.”

“This?” Steve touched his lips to the shell of his ear again.

This time, Bucky shuddered. “Y-yes.”

“I'll keep doing it,” Steve began, “if you can manage to relax for me. Think you can do it?”

Bucky nodded hesitantly. He leaned back a bit further, letting his head fall to one side. Steve started to rub his stomach again, very gently. Bucky's eyes closed.

“Think about something else.” Steve advised him. “Think of something nice.”

Bucky was gradually relaxing, Steve noticed, his body slumping against his chest. As promised, he rewarded him with a kiss to his ear.

With his free hand, Steve reached for the television remote. He flicked it on and flipped it to a historical channel. It was currently playing a documentary on the French Revolution.

It helped to distract Bucky, he noticed warmly, as Bucky's eyes opened and focused on the TV. He watched silently, his gaze trained on the screen. Steve gave a soft smile and nuzzled into his hair slowly.

_'Buck! Oh, my god! What happened to you?'_

_Bucky gave a weak grin, the tug of his busted lip sending a dribble of blood down his chin. 'Nothin' much.'_

_'_ Nothing? _' Steve gasped out, his hands flying to his mouth. 'Who did this to you?'_

_'Don't worry about it, Stevie.' Bucky wiped the blood away with the back of his wrist._

_'S-sit down.' Steve ordered him clumsily, pointing to his bedside. 'I-I'll be right back.'_

_Bucky sat down as instructed, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. Steve ran off into the kitchen, snatching a dishcloth and running it under water from the sink. He hurried back to his room._

_'I'm supposed to be the one getting in fights, not you.' Steve said desperately, wiping off his chin. 'You stupid-head!'_

_'Don't say that, that's mean.'_

_'Well! What did you expect?' Steve glared, but he could feel the tears burning in his eyes. 'You're so dumb sometimes!'_

_'Stevie, I swear, it's not as bad as it looks- wait." Bucky blinked. "Are you crying?'_

_'No.' But Steve sniffled and hastily rubbed his eyes. 'I'm- I'm angry, damn you!'_

_'Don't cry,' Bucky said softly. 'Please don't cry.'_

_'I'm not.' He said hotly. He began to dab the cloth against his lip. 'Now stop talking!'_

_''m sorry,' Bucky mumbled, looking down. 'I didn't mean to upset you.'_

_'You show up at my front door, bleeding and bruised with a black eye, of course I'm gonna be upset!' Steve withdrew the cloth and huffed brokenly, 'Bucky...'_

_'Stevie.' Bucky said thickly. 'Listen, I wanna give you something.'_

_'Whatever it is, it can wait. Let me get you some band-aids.'_

_Steve stood up, but Bucky pleaded, 'No, wait! Lemme give it to you now.'_

_Steve sighed and turned around. 'Fine. What is it?'_

_Bucky reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked to be a dandelion – or at least, what was left of it. It had only a couple of petals, its stem was crooked, and its only leaf was dangling on only by a thread._

_'It looked better this mornin',' Bucky admitted, touching one its pedals softly._

_Steve's eyes widened. 'This- this is for me?'_

_Bucky nodded hesitantly. 'If... if you'll take it.' He offered it to him nervously._

_'Oh,' Steve breathed, taking the flower gently. 'It's...' he looked up, biting his lip. 'Why are you giving this to me?'_

_Bucky shifted his weight. 'Felt right. I saw it just growin' there by the street. Thought it looked real nice, real pretty, thought you mind like it.'_

_'What happened to it?' Steve asked, cradling the flower in his hands._

_'Um...' Bucky began slowly, grimacing. 'My da... he didn't like it.'_

_'Your pa?' Suddenly Steve gasped. 'Buck! Did your pa do this to you?'_

_'I think he had a hard day, and then when I told him I wanted to give this to you...' he trailed off, bringing his index finger to his split lip._

_'Tell me what happened.' Steve ordered him, sitting down beside him. 'Everything.'_

_Bucky took a deep, pained breath before starting, 'I picked the flower comin' back from my aunt's house. Came home and my ma asked what I was doin' with it. My da asked if it was for a girl. I said no. I said... said it was for you. He asks if you're gonna give it to a girl. Said no. Said... said it was all for him.' he fidgets anxiously. 'He asks why. I tell him. I tell him that it's a pretty little thing, just like-' his breath hitches. 'j-just like you. W-well, ma starts cryin', and next thing I know, my da's... he's...' he shuddered, looking down._

_Steve reaches out and touches his arm. 'Hey,' he said softly. 'It's okay. You don't have to tell me the rest.'_

_Bucky rubs at his shoulder. 'A-anyways, he sends me up to my room after he's done. I slipped out the window, though. I... I really wanted you to have it.'_

_'Bucky...' There are tears in Steve's eyes again. 'Y-you shouldn't have done that...'_

_'Don't be mad.' Bucky said miserably. 'I swear, I didn't know it would get me in trouble.'_

_Steve felt the tears spill over and trickle down his cheeks. He grabbed for Bucky suddenly, embracing him tightly. He pushed his face against his chest, tears smearing into Bucky's shirt. He felt Bucky stiffen ever so briefly beside him, but he relaxed and wound his arms around him._

_'Hey...' Bucky spoke in a low murmur. 'Don't cry, Stevie. It'll be okay. It'll all be okay.'_

Bucky was entirely lax in his arms, Steve noted with a smile. His head was resting against his chest, half-lidded eyes watching the television program.

Steve tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn't tired, exactly, but resting here with Bucky in his arms was something he wanted to cherish deeply.

He felt movement in his arms before feeling a hesitant touch to his lips. He cracked an eye open to see Bucky hovering above him, biting his lip between his teeth. His right hand was lingering beside his mouth, the tip of his finger brushing against his bottom lip.

Bucky pulled away when Steve opened his eyes, flinching. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Steve said, smiling. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Bucky shifted a little closer, his legs on either side of Steve's waist. He leaned down slowly, cautiously, and brushed his lips against Steve's. Steve closed his eyes and returned the kiss gently, but only moments later, Bucky pulled away. Steve's lips tingled and he eagerly leaned forward for another one. Bucky made a soft sound of surprise in the back of his throat.

“S-Steve.”

He grinned. “I just love kissing you so much.”

“Did we... used to k-” he stuttered. “-kiss a lot?”

“All the time.” Steve leaned back, cupping Bucky's stubbled cheek with his palm. Bucky sighed softly at the contact.

“But...” Bucky murmured. “Only when no one was looking.”

“That's right.” Steve admitted, stroking his thumb over Bucky's cheekbone. Bucky's eyes slid shut.

“Why not...?”

“Why couldn't anyone see us? Well...” Steve hesitated. “It was... a different time back then.”

Bucky's eyes opened, his brows furrowing. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Steve lowered his hand in thought, but Bucky grabbed for it and placed his hand back against his cheek. Steve chuckled and began to rub his jaw slowly. “It means that back when we were kids, people weren't so accepting as they are now.”

“They wouldn't have liked it?”

“They would have put us away.” Steve said firmly. “Guys being with other guys, like us, you know, it wasn't considered right.”

“But we did it anyways?” Bucky asked hesitantly. “Why?”

“Because I had more love than fear.” Steve said simply. “Because being with you was worth the risk.”

A faint pink rose high on Bucky's cheekbones and he leaned down and nuzzled into the crook of Steve's neck. He wound his arms around him slowly, and Steve grinned as he felt the flutter of his eyelashes closing. It was only minutes before he fell into a comfortable slumber.


End file.
